Events
by mildetryth
Summary: Parts out of Jesus' life. Yes, I know I always write about him. It's told by very different people. Can be veeerrrryyy offensive, but is meant as romantic, and sometimes funny.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** don't own the Bible, don't own any movies aobut it, don't own a boy-friend... though that has nothing to do with a the story.

**Author's note:** this is a story about Jesus Christ, written by an atheist (be warned!). God is kind of the bad guy. The prologue is written by someone most people fairly misjudge (and he likes cursing, I'm very sorry to upset you all, I couldn't stop him.).

Cain, if you read this, wow. I'm very impressed. I never thought you'd say something like that, but it was very sweet.

* * *

_Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, at this little story I am asked to write a prologue of. This is a story about friendship, treason, and, of course, the most ridiculous thing of all, love. _

_I don't understand why, but Men seem to be fascinated about it, they even commit crimes for it. But I'm straying from the subject._

_Of course this isn't the whole story, then we should go back to the beginning of time, and you should read the other Book for that, written (well, not literally) by my Brother, aka God. This story at the other hand, goesabout thirteen men and one woman. _

_About a man called Simon Peter, a common fisher, also called the tower of strength, or Pete and was said to be the first pope, though I can assure you he didn't look at all like some old, raving fool. About his brother, Andrew, or Andy, who practised the same job, and died on a cross in the form of an X._

_About their friends, James and John, sons of Zebedee, who, when you asked them the question: 'What's the name ofthe father of the sons of Zebedee?' would stare for some moments at you,triumphantly answer: 'Zebedee!' and then be very surprised that you laughed._

_About another fisher, called Phillip, who someone called Philly._

_About Thomas, who was also called Tommy or, much later, doubting Thomas, because he wasn't too dumb to just believe you on your word._

_About Bartholomew or Barty, a name he hated._

_About Matthew, who was a tax-collector, but no evil man, and also was called Matt._

_About another James, who was also known as Jammy and could tell the greatest shit and get away with it._

_About a person called Judas Thaddaeus Labbaeus, aka Thaddy._

_About Simon the Zealot, who didn't get a nickname because he was a good friend of the one who thought them up. Simon liked fighting a lot, but if you asked him anything difficult, he understood what you meant too, what you can't say for everyone who likes fighting._

_About Judas of Iscariot, or the Traitor, or the Betrayer, or whatever names you like to give him. he was the one who came up with all the nicknames, and because he always said what he thought, he came in a lot of trouble. I rather liked him, but I have nothing to do with this story; my Brother is the only one, though they blame me all the time for it._

_About the only woman in this thing (emancipation didn't have so much success in those days), Mary Magdalene or Mary of Magdala, a good-looking prostitute. And a very sweet woman._

_And, of course, about the son of my Brother, Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus Christ, the Savoir, the Messiah or whatever-the-hell you want to name him. He was a very nice chap, I felt very sorry for him when he died on that cross. He really hated the idea that all his friends had to die because of him. He was a very pure, innocent, almost naïve boy, and I really liked my nephew, had nothing to do with his death, whatever they may tell you. He didn't quite grasp that every disciple of him wouldn't even fight with another disciple, just because they were afraid of the disappointment in his eyes. That everyone looked happier when he was around. He's the one who talked me in this too. But I'm only writing the prologue, so much pride he at least left me. But, like everyone else, I can't refuse him anything. And the problem is he doesn't even know that everybody will do exactly as he says._

_But, anyway, this story tells bits out of his life, or actually only the parts about his three years with the apostles. _

_Oh, yes, and before you begin, I'd like to introduce myself. You can call me Lucifer, and although I have a lot of other names (not very nice ones), I prefer that one._

_See you in hell, I hope._

_Sincerely,_

_Lucifer_

* * *

did you like it? Next part will be written by Mary. Please review! Then I'll update as soon as a can! 


	2. Mary of Magdala

**Disclaimer:** nope, and I had to hand my copy of the bible in in the liprary too. My father said I could lean his, if I cleaned the driveway. Of course I told him I didn't need it _that _badly.

**Author's note:** Lucifer asked me to say to you all it's a terrible slimy chapter.

* * *

_Okay, I'm not very good in this, so please forgive me if I do anything wrong. After all, I only know how to write for a couple of years. Where I come from, women don't need to know how to write, though I've heard they can in modern times. But as I'm not born then, I'll have to do it like this._

_I'm doing this because our Lord, Jesus Christ, has asked me to do so. The way he asked me went quite like this._

"_Mary!"  
"I looked up and smiled. He was wearing a very broad smile on his face. "Yes, Jesus?" I asked softly.  
"I've got a wonderful idea- well, actually it's Peter's idea. Do you want to hear it?" His long, black hair swept in the sunlight, so I saw small sparks of starlight. His eyes stood tender.  
"Of course, tell me."  
"Well, we could write a story about us, about the apostles, with everyone who was involved in it! You could write something too."  
"But- but I can hardly write." At his disappointed look, I chewed on my lip. "But I'll try."  
He looked as happy as a child that got an early Christmas present and my heart melted. "You do need to write the truth."  
I smiled. "I will."  
He kissed my cheek enthusiastic. "You're fantastic!"_

_So I'll write one chapter in this story, with one important event in my life from the moment I knew Jesus. And that one important event is me knowing Jesus._

* * *

"E- Excuse me?" I turned around. In the beginning of the alley stood a young, beautiful man. His black hair shone in the sun, his innocent brown eyes looked uncertain at me. "Could- could you help me? I'm- I'm very hungry."

"Of- of course." My mouth took ages to form the words. "If- if you wait here, I'll- I'll get you something. My-my house isn't far away." All I wanted to do was help him, but he wouldn't walk with me through the streets. I didn't want him to be shouted at for being with me, so he would look at me with disgust on his face.

His brown eyes looked surprised and asking. "If your house isn't so far away, then I can come with you, if you don't mind that."

"I- No. No, just wait here." I quickly walked past him. And then it happened. No, I thought, not again, don't let him see me like this!

Of course, that didn't help. I fell against the wall, my eyes turned away and I started to shake all over. I sobbed and yelled at the same time.

Then it was over. My bosom moved quickly up and down and I was sweating. I noticed only now that his left arm lay around my waist, to prevent my head to make a hard smash against the wall, and his right hand lay on my forehead. At that moment, I don't know how, I knew he had cast away the demons.

"Are you alright?" His eyes looked worried.

I fell on my knees and kissed his feet. "Thank you, my Lord." Tears streamed over my cheeks.

He laughed and helped me up. "I'm not a Lord."

"You are mine."

He looked surprised at me. "Maybe you should go home. You had better lie down." He took my hand. "Show me where you live."

I took him with me, through the streets, and it didn't take long before I met Joses with some of his companions, on the square where the fish was sold by scolding fishwives. The drunk never had enough money to pay me, and I knew he was terribly jealous. Frightened I looked around, but the only people around wouldn't help me; people who thought they were decent, and would never, ever help a whore.

"Hey, M-Magdalene!" Joses gabbled. "When cannnnn I co-come toni-night? Or will you be t-to b-busy with- with teachin' the you-young fella 'ere?" he burped. I could smell the drank from where I stood. His friends laughed.

"Leave me alone, Joses," I said softly.

The young man, still holding my hand, looked at him, not understanding. Joses turned to his friends. "Hey, g-guys, what d-does an ad-ad-" He searched for the word in his muzzy brain.

"Adulterous?" one of his less drunk and probably cleverer friends suggested.

"Tha-that's it. Y-yeah, what does a… ye-ye-know woman get fr-om us?"

Stones!" they all roared together and before I could do something, two of them had grasped my arms. I didn't see the young man's look, but I could imagine it: disgust.

I screamed, fought back and let my nails slide deep in their flesh. "Ouch!" One of them let go of me.

"D-Don't be such a ch-chicken, mate," another friend of Joses giggled.

"Little cat!" Joses slapped me in the face. They pushed me in a corner of the square. My eyes shot from one side to another, but they had surrounded me.

Meanwhile others, who didn't want anything to do with me, moved away and other interested had come closer. Some already picked up stones.

"Al-Alright, o-on my s-sign," Joses choked out.

"Let me do it, mate," a not-drunk man stepped forward. "You're not in the right state for this." Joses stared at him, and when the message got into his drunken mind, he shrugged and took a step backwards.

"One, two, thr-"

"Stop!" an authoritarian voice sounded. My heart jumped. It was him! He took a step forward and frowned. "What has she done?"

"She's a little whore, mate," someone remarked.

"And you have the right to stone her?"

"That's the law," someone in the crowd shouted.

"Alright then." I looked at him, deadly pale. Would he actually let them-? "Those of you whose slate is clean, those of you can throw stones."

I looked back at the mob. Nobody threw anything, some even lowered their arms. They all looked uncertain at each other, at him, who still looked confident, and completely at ease, and at me. I tried not to look too weak, to provide them from despise me, but also not too proud.

Suddenly a stone clashed against the ground. Another followed and soon nobody, not even Joses had a stone left. Slowly they started to spread out.

He came to me and helped me up. "Tha-thank you," I stammered. "Thank y-you." I noticed I was crying, but I didn't care. He smiled and laid his hand on my cheek. I kissed his palm lightly.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked softly. I nodded eagerly. Yes. Yes! I would never leave him. "I live outside town for the moment, but I'm planning on leaving again. Maybe you'll like the travelling, with my friends and me."

"What- How may I call you?"

"My name is Jesus of Nazareth."

I had heard of him. People talked about him. I wouldn't have cared if they had said he was a killer. "I am Mary of Magdala."

He laughed. "Well, Mary Magdalene I'll call you."

"Yes." Mary Magdalene. It sounded wonderful.

We walked together away. We met Esther and her friend on the way. "Hey, Mary, little whore where you're goin'?" her friend called. I could hear Esther give a burst of laughter.

"Away," I smiled.

"You're a bad woman, Magdala," Esther shrieked laughing. I wondered if she knew how much time her boyfriend spent in my former neighbourhood.

"You're a liar, Esther. There never has been a more blessed woman on earth." With those words I turned my back to them.

* * *

Ok ay, that was it! Muchos reviewos, please! 


	3. Intermezzo

**Disclaimer:** certainly not mine! I don't curse so much!

* * *

_Damn, darn, damned, cursed, doggone it, damn them, darn, darn, darn!_

_I have to write something else! All because of Magdalene! And I can't take her to Hell, Jesus forbade me to! Not that it was really her fault, actually. It actually is the fault of all those people who liked my prologue. But, as I don't have their address, I'll have to cool my vengeance on the one who publishes this story. Mill... Mildetyt or something. I think I'll give her a free holiday in Hell._

_Anyway, my last conversation with my nephew went quite like this:_

"_Uncle, have you already read Mary's chapter?"_

"_Nah, it's a bit crowded for the moment, we've got a lot of new arrivals."  
"It's really nice. She wrote how I asked her to write it too."  
"And…"  
"So… could you do so too? Please?"  
Now he actually looked begging. "Oh, please, don't give me that look."  
"Why not?" He looked surprised I said so.  
"Because- oh, Hell, forget it. I'll write that thing."  
"Thank you!"  
"Yeah, yeah. But I expect you to not ask me anything again for the next decade."  
"That's a promise."_

_So I have to write this &$£ thing (fill in as you like)!_

_But anyway, I'm getting started at it, but don't you go nagging that it isn't long enough, or I'll burn your buttocks!_

_Jesus and I walked out of the Big Nagging Room. I believe it actually calls the Grand Confer Hall, but as there isn't any conferring in it, only my Brother giving orders. And, since I-don't-remember-when, his death at any rate, Jesus sometimes arguing and sometimes even winning._

"_I can't believe it! Do all those people really have to die?" Jesus saw very pale._

"_He says so, so they'll have to."_

"_It's not fair!"_

"_Oh, boy, you gotta think, before you came here, nobody argued with Him. I did occasionally, and look where I am. He can't and doesn't want to send you away, and He sometimes even gives in to you!"_

"_But not always. How many people still to go?"_

"_The rest of the world, I'm afraid. Everybody has to die."_

"_Nobody ever asks me why, but I keep asking it myself."_

_I looked at him with pity (don't tell anyone, I'd lose me reputation). "Don't torture yourself like that, m'boy. You can't help it and you try at least."_

"_You're right, I suppose." He tried to smile. "Peter had a nice idea. He said that we could make a story about events that happened at the apostle-time. I was wondering if you could write the prologue."_

_I bet ye Peter had thought it up to distract Jesus a bit. "Okay."_

"_Thank you." He turned around, hesitated, and turned to me again. "How's- How's Judas?" I knew he had been burning to ask that question._

"_He's fine. As fine as you can be down there."_

"_Father won't let him come up, no matter how much I try."_

"_Yeah, He has a reputation to hold high."_

_Jesus nodded. "Does- does he ever asks for me?"_

_I was silent for a moment and then said: "No. never." I decided not to tell Jesus about the fact that even the ones in Hell not wanted to talk to Judas._

"_Ok- okay." He walked away. "Thanks, uncle. For everything."_

"_You're welcome." I felt quite uneasy, seeing him walking around a corner. I think I was blushing also._

"_That's a nice colour you have, Lucy."_

_I jumped about a meter in the air. "You!" I said when I saw who it was. "Don't ever call me like that again and never sneak up like that on me!"_

_He had turned very pale over the centuries. A bit like Dracula. The mocking smile on his face hadn't left, but there was some bitterness in it too now. His black hair, where all women used to stare at in adoration, had gotten entangled and the blue shine was out of it. Only his black eyes hadn't changed. They didn't look at me, but eagerly at the corner Jesus had disappeared after. "I've been calling you like that forever, and I'll never stop now I know you think it's irritating." _

_I cursed. "What you're doing here?"_

"_Non-stop situation downstairs. Beelzebub asked me to go and fetch you." His eyes didn't lose a bit of their intension. I saw him open his mouth, and knew he'd ask for Jesus. But he closed it again, like he had been doing always. This was getting routine. He didn't dare to ask for Jesus, so I couldn't tell Jesus he had asked for him. Poor chap._

"_Well, let's go then."_

"_Yeah." He gave the corner one last, hungry look and followed me._

* * *

Ehhh... Help! Lucy is coming after me! Aaargh! 


	4. Andrew

**Disclaimer:** I asked the Lord, but he didn't want to give the Bible to me, and I couldn't sell my soul for it to Lucy because I had already traded it for some chocolat, which I already ate, and Lucy says the wrapper isn't enough.

**Author's note:** It took long to get this chapter, but Lucy was so mad at me last time I couldn't sit anymore after our er... talk, so I couldn't type. But it's a very long

**Author's note 2:** This is Andrew's chapter. And a friend of mine had a crazy idea! If you tell me your favourite character, then I'll dedicate that person's chapter to you!

**Author's note 3:** they keep coming, those A/Ns... Anyway, thanks to everynoe who has reviewed until now; thanks to EternalPheonixtears (really beautiful name)(double), Jinace (my fan), Jediman (good you're not mad at me! And thanks for the nice review), Nixiesocean (Yes, it is, isn't it:p), almostinsane (I'll see you on the mail), and ehh... OFFENDED CHRISTIANS (okay, it was a very good plea, but I'm not going to stop writing this. I'm sorry if I offended you.)

* * *

_Hello,_

_My name is Andrew. If you haven't heard of me before, I'm Peter's little brother. _

_I've never liked writing. Usually, when the rabbi explained something, I was staring out of the window, hoping that the river would be cool enough to make me everything I **had** heard forget. _

_The rabbi yelled at me a lot._

_So normally, I would have said 'No' to this, but the problem was… oh, well, I'll tell you, then I don't have to explain._

_Peter, John, Jesus and me were sitting in a cool, white room which looked out on the Heavenly Garden. Outside, the others were pushing each other in the Divine River. I was actually thinking about joining them, but that would mean that I would have to get up. So I was leaning back, yawning, when the Devil came in.  
the Devil's kinda Jesus' uncle, though I don't exactly know how it really all works. I guess he's nice, but, you know, I always get a bit nervous when he's around. I mean, he's **the** bad guy. I don't think the others have that, so I just act like nothing's the matter.  
"Hey, Jesus." He walked over to the table, were a basket with fruit stood, picked out an apple and fell down on a chair. I have to admit, he somewhere resembles the Traitor. Which isn't a compliment.  
"Hello, uncle," Jesus smiled. "I didn't know Father had asked for you." The Devil is only allowed in Heaven if the Holy Father or Jesus asks for him. Or the Holy Spirit, but he never did.  
"Oh, He hasn't," the Devil replied good-humouredly. "I said you had asked for me."  
Jesus sighed, shook his head and smiled. "And what was so urgent that you needed to see me?"  
"I wanted to give you this." The Devil swung with his hand through the air and suddenly held an in leather bound, small book in his hand. He handed it to Jesus, who nodded gratefully.  
"Thank you, Lucifer."  
"Oh, you're welcome, but just remember that I said that to be polite and that you're not welcome at all."  
Jesus laughed and flipped through the book. Then he started to read. The Devil looked at him attentively. I noticed Peter was also watching Jesus from the corner of his eye. John was staring outside, but I knew he was listening.  
Jesus, in the meanwhile, had become pretty (then I mean' rather', not 'beautiful', like in that one movie, what was it, 'West Side Story') pale and his eyes stood sad. He finally looked up. "Is this true?"  
"Every word. I'm sorry, kiddo." Jesus bowed back over the book. When he was finished, he closed it with a clap. Then he just stared in front of him. The Devil cocked his head aside. "I've gotta go. Spirit's coming this way and he's such a sneak. See ye, Jesus, Peter, John, Andrew."  
"Thank you," Jesus muttered. The Devil nodded and left. "Andrew." He shoved the book in my direction. "Your turn." He almost spoke without realising what he said. He suddenly stood up. "I'm getting him out of there, Peter, even if I'm sent to Hell for it!"  
"It won't work, Jesus." They spoke like they were holding an unfinished conversation.  
"I have to try! He's my friend."  
"I know."  
Jesus left._

_So, I need to write something about the apostle-time. Because I've got not the faintest idea, I'll write about how I met Jesus. I know I'm picking this from Mary._

* * *

I was listening to John, nicknamed the Baptist. I wasn't exactly a follower of his, but his ideas interested me, and he hadn't mind me listening and being no follower until now, so I just kept sitting there, between two of his followers. 

We were sitting under some trees along the river. It was the hottest moment of the day, the moment you should actually lie down and don't do anything anymore, but still John was gesturing wildly while he talked to us. He was a strange looking man. He was dressed in rough camelhair (I sometimes wondered if that wasn't very itchy) and had a long beard, which seemed very tingling. They say he lived on honey and grasshoppers.

When he paused for a moment, one of his followers, a rather thin man, asked him curiously: "Are you the Messiah?" The man's face was set eager.

"No, I am not the Christ, but I am sent ahead of Him!" He wasn't exactly shouting, but he had such a loud voice that it seemed so. "And He will not, like I do baptize you in water, but in the Holy Spirit and in fire! I am not worth unloosing the latchets of his shoes!" he turned away from the man and went on talking. The man's face was set disappointed.

After some time, when it was almost getting dark and I was thinking about heading back to the village, John suddenly pointed behind us and roared: "Behold, there is the Lamb of God, going to the slaughter!"

Of course, we all turned around. First I thought it must've been the heat, for I didn't see a thing. Then a man appeared. There wasn't anything very remarkable about him, except maybe that he didn't seem to se us at all, while we were with at least twenty. His clothes seemed those of a man who has to work hard, but can survive. His hair was as black, maybe even a bit lighter than mine. He had a shepherd's staff in his hand, so I gathered he was a shepherd. Though you didn't regularly see them far from their herd.

He suddenly paused, and stared up to the sky, like he let the sunbeams caress his skin. After some time he resumed his journey.

I drew myself half up, without a good reason, and kept staring at his back. I felt everyone's gaze at me and turned around, to John. The look he gave me meant something like 'if-you-don't-follow-him-you've-got-no-reason-to-live-and-certainly-not-to-be-here'. Well, you get the point.

I now stood on my feet, and started to run, after the man. I must've looked like crazy. He must've heard me, for he turned around and waited for me. We were out of side of John and his followers and I felt like a fool. "Errr… My name is Andrew." He smiled, like he knew already. "How- what's your name, if I may ask?" I admit it; I wouldn't have been surprised if he had started laughing. What a way to hold a conversation!

"They call me Jesus of Nazareth," he replied softly. "And you had better hurry; it's getting dark."

"Yes, o-of course." I could imagine he wanted to get rid of me, but I hadn't expected him to say it so bluntly.

I started to turn around, but then he said: "I'll see you tomorrow, if that's alright with you, Andrew."

"Yes! Certainly! Where?"

"At the lake, of course," he answered, like that was obvious.

"Okay." I remembered my manners. "Do you want to stay over night in my house?"

"No, thank you," he smiled, lying a hand on my shoulder. "But I'll be there tomorrow." I nodded, suddenly very happy, and left.

* * *

"Andrew, hold the net, will you!" Simon shouted, just catching the net I had dropped. "God, as if it isn't bad enough we hardly catch anything!" 

"Sorry," I muttered, becoming red. I've never been very handy, and Simon's wife was just sick, so he was a bit short lately. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm sorry too," Simon sighed, dragging a hand through his hand, after we had safely brought the fish in the boat. "I- Esther- there's a change that- she might not survive the- the delivery, and with this fe-fever she has lately, there's a change- the baby's already dead." Simon never cried, but he now stared in the water, helpless, and I couldn't think of anything worse. My brother was never unsure, always knew what to do.

We silently rowed back to the shore and pulled the boat on the shore. "Hello, Andrew," a soft voice said and I almost jumped. Under a tree, close to us, sat Jesus of Nazareth.

Simon looked friendly. "Is this the man you have told me about, Andrew?" Yesterday I had told him everything. You could do that with Simon without him making any remarks about you should have behaved.

Jesus smiled. "You're his brother."

"Yes," Simon said surprised. "I am."

Jesus nodded, again like he already knew. "Can I come with you?" he pointed at our boat.

"Sure," Simon said, now close to amazed. "Are you a fisher?"

Jesus laughed. "No, not at all." He walked over to the boat and kept there waiting for us. We changed a startled look and pushed the boat in the water.

Jesus and I rowed, under protest of Simon, but Jesus didn't want to hear about it. In the middle of the lake Jesus stopped, so I stopped too, otherwise we would just go around in circles. Simon looked up. "This isn't a very good place. We've been here a moment ago."

"Yes, I saw you," Jesus replied calmly. "But it won't do any harm if we try again, will it?"

"I guess not," I said, looking imploring at Simon. I just knew something was going to happen. He shrugged and I helped him throwing the net out. When we pulled it up again, it was so full of fish we could hardly carry it, so Jesus stood up to help us.

"How- how did you know?" Simon whispered, while he watched the big pile. Jesus just smiled, looking almost shy.

"Are you the Messiah?" I asked him, suddenly almost scared.

Now he laughed. "That is what you say. Shall we head back?"

We rowed back silently. "How may I call you?" Jesus quite unexpected asked Simon. Strange question. Instead of 'What's your name?' 'How may I call you?'.

"I am Simon Peter."

"If you don't mind, I'll call you Peter."

"Sure." I was getting more curious at the minute, but the same thing didn't seem to bother Simon.

When we were back at the shore, Simon –or was it Peter now? - looked at the sky. "It's going to rain. Do you want to stay with us?"

"If it's no trouble."

"Not at all." Together we walked to our home.

* * *

In the village we met James and John, sons of Zebedee. They lived in the next village, and were talking to Philip, another fisher who lived next to our door. They stopped us on our way. "Simon! Gee, you've got a lot of fish!" James said. 

"Thank you."

"Our mother is now with Esther, and Philip's will come tomorrow to take care of her. Is that all right?"

"Of course," Simon –I mean Peter- smiling answered. "Thank you, all three." They nodded friendly to us and walked on.

"My wife," Peter explained, "is very sick." Jesus nodded but didn't spoke a word. He only touched Peter's shoulder for a moment.

* * *

"This is my wife, Esther." Simon pushed the door open. On the straw mat in the corner lay Esther. I don't know what to tell about her. She was always a wonderful nice woman and had a sort of unending patience. She looked a lot like Peter at that point. She had never been very beautiful though pleasant to look at, but now, now she was sick, she had become very pale and thin. When she stood, something she lately hardly did, you could count her ribs. Her eyes seemed to become very big, because her face was so haggard. 

"Simon," we heard her whisper when Peter stepped in the light.

"I'm here, Esther." Peter knelt beside her.

"Don't say ye brough' a vagabon' in, did ye, Simon? He ain't no good, he ain't, no workin' for his bread, only stealin' an' beggin'. Ye 'ad bettah get 'im out." Mary, James and John's mother, stood in the door. She had a cup with water in her hand and was looking severe at Jesus, who smiled friendly back.

"If I am a burden, dear woman, I will certainly leave," he said softly and turned around to leave.

"No, please," Esther whispered from the bed. "You can stay. You're not a burden to anyone. Right, Mary?"

"If ya say so, sweetie, if ya say so. But 'e'll eat all ye food an' there'll be no payin', I guarantee ye." She brushed past me and knelt at Esther's other side, handing the cup to Peter, so he could support her and help her to drink.

Jesus slowly walked over to the straw mat and smiling sat down. Mary looked suspicious at him. Peter was also watching him, totally tensed up, but not in hostile way. Jesus laid a hand on Esther's forehead and closed his eyes. A moment later Esther opened her eyes and there was a spark in them. "Who are you?" she said with a stronger voice than before.

Jesus smiled. "Certainly not a doctor."

* * *

I walked out the door and saw Jesus leaning against the wall, hands pushed against his face. "What's the matter?" 

He made a frightened move and then smiled wearily. "Andrew… Could you get Peter for me?"

"Sure."

Peter came also outside, gave Jesus one look and then there came a hard look on his face. "What's wrong with her?"

I didn't understand a thing of it. "Peter…" Jesus sighed. "I-I only knew when I had removed the fever. The baby…"

"Yes?" Peter whispered, looking like someone who's preparing himself to hear bad news.

"Dead. Her body will reject it. There will be a delivery tonight. And- and your wife won't survive it."

Peter clenched his fists. I've never seen my brother cry and he didn't now either, but he closed his eyes for a moment and I knew it was to strain back the tears. He looked at Jesus again. Jesus didn't say he was sorry, he didn't have to. The tears in his eyes said enough. "I'll have to tell Esther," Peter whispered and, bent, went back inside.

* * *

Peter closed the door of our house behind him and looked in the direction of the graveyard, where Esther this morning was buried. Jesus stood next to me and looked at the ground, like a boy that who was about to be punished. Peter turned to him. "Wherever you go, I'll go." 

Jesus looked up. "You'll be sorry," he remarked softly.

Peter shook his head. "No, I won't. Then I could say I was sorry I married Esther. Which I am not."

Jesus slowly nodded. "I'm coming too," I said, my heart pumping in my chest. No way I was staying here! "You've-you've tried to save Esther."

"It didn't work."

"But you tried, at least," Peter observed. "That is more important than the result."

"Sometimes not."

"It always is," I replied.

Jesus shook, still unconvinced, his head and then smiled sadly. "Well, let us leave, Peter, Andrew."

He turned around and we followed him.

* * *

Pretty long, huh? So I expect pretty much reviews. 

P.S. I know it's actually Peter's mother-in-law that Jesus saves, but my father said that if Jesus had had a heart, he wouldn't have saved _anyone's _mother-in-law. After which my mother asked with a dangerous smile what he meant, so he replied hastily that that of course didn't count for my grantmother.

I have weird parents.


	5. Simon the Zealot

**Disclaimer:** It's mine! I'm God!...Okay,I know, I'm not. I was dreaming.

**Author's note:** nobody told me what his/her favourite character was! I'm very angry at you all!

**Author's note 2:** This is Simon the Zealot's chapter. Thanks to Jinace, who keeps sending those nice reviews! And a special announcement: I expect at least two reviews per chapter from... now on!

* * *

_I don't want to, but I'm still doing it. I expect a **lot** of pity. _

_Unlike usual, it wasn't Jesus, but Peter talked me into it._

"_Simon, your turn." _

_I turn around. "No way."_

"_Jesus would like you to."_

"_I hate writing!"_

"_Andrew did it." That impressed me a little. Andrew hates writing even more than me._

_But still… "No."_

"_Jesus asks you to."_

"_Damn, no, Peter!"_

"_He'd like you to write something about Judas."_

_My mouth literally fell open. "Then forget it totally!"_

"_Simon."_

"_Don't look at me like that."_

"_Like?" He held the calm, I-am-not-judging-you-look. _

"_Like you're not judging me. You are."_

"_I am not."_

"_Yes, you are."_

"_I am not."_

"_Yes, you are."_

"_I am not." You can imagine the rest of the conversation._

"_Why does he want me to write about the Traitor?" I asked, changing the subject. After half an hour even a "Yes," "No," conversation is getting boring._

"_Because you knew him rather well."_

"_No, I didn't."_

"_You two always talked together."_

"_Say it a bit louder! I don't want anyone to know! I **hate** the guy!"_

"_Then write about that. Or about the time you didn't hate him." _

_I tried to shot him a deadly look, but he wasn't impressed. I suddenly snatched the book out of his hands. "I'll write the stupid thing! Happy now?"_

"_A bit," he smiled. I cursed. He turned around to walk away and said casually over his shoulder: "Oh, by-the-by, Judas was a lot better in giving terrible looks. Maybe you should write about that too."_

_Oh, just great._

* * *

_Okay, what should I tell you about that darn, treacherous, dirty bastard of an Iscariot?_

"_It is the intention that you write like you felt at the moment of the event, not about how you think about it now."_

"_Go away, Peter!"_

* * *

_He was big. He was really tall; he was like a head taller than Jesus and a few inches than me. His hair was, like, Lucifer already wrote, black, with a sort of blue shine. It would fall really elegant in his eyes, so he made a movement with his head to shook it away; it would always fall back. But there was a sort of patience speaking from the way he kept doing it, like it was no big deal and not irritating at all. He had black eyes. But really black-black, like charcoal. And sometimes there were flickers of light in them, which mostly indicated you had done something he thought amusing, which basically meant you had made a fool of yourself. His skin was tanned, of course, and he was muscled. I think most women would consider him handsome._

_He had a strange way of moving; it was like he had a wonderful control of his actions, that every move was set up and determined, like a strange, dark panther. It was almost scary. People just shouldn't have such a control. And he didn't like touching. He wouldn't **do** anything if you touched him, but he would avoid it as much as possible, and there had to be someone dying before he would touch someone of his own accord. And maybe it would also depend on **who** was dying._

_He was also intelligent; irritatingly so. And he always said what he thought. Also irritating, because he was mostly right. You don't want to hear you've done something stupid when you're very ashamed about it. And he had a mocking sense of humour. He gave the most cheeky answers you can imagine, which (also) insulted someone most of the time._

_He was always very silent when it was about his family and past. I sometimes asked him about it, but then he would just smile and shake his head. From some casual remarks, which were sort of 'slips of the tongue', I gathered his mother had neglected and ignored him after the death of his father, but that was all I knew._

_But, actually, he was a very nice guy. I first didn't believe he had betrayed Jesus, that was just not like Judas. Jesus had been his best friend, he was the only one who knew really everything about Jesus and the other way around. When I knew Judas had done it, I would've killed him if he hadn't done that himself already._

_Anyway, we should get started with the event. I'll take the day I first realised there was a side of Judas I didn't know. _

_The day Mary arrived._

_Jesus was going to a town called Magdala and he had asked me and Judas to accompany him until the gates of the town. Keep that in mind._

* * *

We were walking next to each other, and I was trying to question Judas about his family. Jesus was silent, but we were used to that, so we didn't bother him.

"Tell me something now about your family."

"No."

"Why not?" he smiled and shook his head. "You're just being secretive because you know it irritates me, aren't you?" I accused him.

Lights sprung up in his eyes. "What an interesting idea."

The conversation was going nowhere when we reached a bridge across a river. I'm not really good in describing landscapes, so I'm not going to try to do it, but it was beautiful. The sun was shining on the water, which reflected the sky so it seemed we were looking at a giant mirror of emeralds. At the river bank, a woman was washing her clothes.

"I'm a bit thirsty," I said, smacking my dry lips.

Jesus smiled. "Let's ask that woman if she has something to drink."

We went down and Jesus asked: "Good woman, do you have something to drink for us?"

Jesus has a really sweet smile, I mean such an innocent smile all women fall for, so the woman looked at him, smiled also and handed him a jar with cool water. "Here you go. If you're going to Magdala, it's still an hour away."

"Thank you," he smiled and handed the jar to me. "I am Jesus of Nazareth."

She bowed her head, in sign she recognised his name. When I lowered the jar, I saw Judas watching the woman, with a strange look in his eyes. She noticed also, and looked rather surprised and unsure. His look _was_ quite unnerving. "Do- Do I know you, by any chance, mister?" she asked him hesitant.

There flickered something in his eyes. I thought for a moment it was disappointment. "No," he replied softly. "I don't think you do, mother." He turned around, and started walking towards the town, not looking back.

Well, _I_ was staring like an idiot, my mouth half open. Jesus was looking at the woman- I mean Judas' mother- and she was looking at Judas' back, her lower lip trembling. Tears streamed over her cheeks. "I'm sor-sorry," she muttered. I don't know it was meant for Judas or for us.

"It's alright," Jesus soothed, laying a friendly hand on her shoulder. She buried her face in her hands.

"I've been such a terr-terrible mother," she cried. "I'm- I've neglected him an-and I-"

"It's alright," Jesus murmured, putting his arms around her. "You did the only thing that was possible."

"N-No, I should've died-"

"Then Judas would've died as well. It was your and his only way out."

"I-If I hadn't had him- I-I wouldn't ha-have done it, b-but I didn't kn-know what e-else to d-do- an-and now I-I have t-two girl-girls an-and they will e-end up-p-p jus-just like me!"

"No, they won't. All you have to do is take care of them."

She just shook her head and cried her eyes out.

Jesus managed to calm her down after a while. "I'm sorry," she muttered, when she had dried her eyes.

"It's okay," Jesus said softly.

"Will- Could you tell him- he- he can always drop by to-to visit… his sisters? I moved out of Keiroth. I live in a village not far away from here. He'll probably never come, but- he's welcome."

"I'll certainly tell him."

"Thank you. And- please take care of him."

"Of course."

Jesus greeted her and walked away. I followed him, but I couldn't get a goodbye out of my throat. I could hardly grasp what had happened, to be exact.

Not after a very long time, we saw Judas. He was sitting beneath an olive tree. He looked up and he was really pissed off, judging his look. "What?" he said curtly to Jesus.

"You have two sisters, it seems," Jesus softly remarked. "They and your mother live not far from here. In a little village. You're welcome to drop by, she said."

"Don't look like that at me," Judas snapped.

Jesus kept his gaze on him. "I won't try to _make_ you make peace with her."

"You better not." He stood up and walked silently with us to Magdala, a face like a thunder cloud.

When we had let Jesus alone to walk in Magdala, we passed the river again. The bank was empty.

* * *

I didn't ask him anything, and made sure nobody else in the camp did. He was in for some rows, and I wouldn't let it happen. Fortunately, Peter seemed to grasp something was wrong and he made sure nobody bothered Judas.

Judas was sitting, watching the fire grumpily. I knew this mood of his. If anyone would only say a word he _could_ see as an offence, he would take it.

"Is there something wrong, Judas?" James the Youngest asked, who had managed to slip past Peter and me.

Judas looked up. "Except I have to look upon your baboon-face, nothing, thank you," he snarled.

James became red. "You don't have to be so rude," he said offended. "I'm just asking."

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go drown yourself."

"Take that back!" Andrew came to the rescue of his friend. Oh, great. Just what we needed.

Judas stared back in the fire. "Oh, shut up, Andy."

"Apologise!"

"Make me." That is something you'd better _not_ say to Andrew. The next moment Andrew lay on Judas, punching him wherever he could while Peter and I, who had been the closest, tried to pull him away. The only problem was, Judas was a lot stronger, so he was just overpowering him when everyone finally stood on their feet and helped us pulling the two apart. Andrew had a black eye, and a bruise, because Judas had smashed him with his head against a stone. He was fuming and still tried to comenear Judas. He, on the other hand, let a small chuckle escape his mouth and waited calmly until everyone had let go of him to push a finger against his bleeding lip.

"What's happening here?" We all whirled around and saw a pale Jesus looking at us. "Andrew! What happened to your head? Judas! Your lip is bleeding! You haven't been fighting, have you?"

"How did you know?" Judas grinned ironically. His whole finger saw red of the blood. He turned around and stiffened. "And who is this?" he asked after some time, sounding casual.

We all turned around, so we could see what he meant. Coming from behind a tree, her black curls pinned up so her naked shoulders were visible, stood a woman, not much more than a girl, her brown eyes big and her dress emphasized every inch of her body. She smiled shyly when she was discovered. "This is Mary Magdalene," Jesus said, walking to her. "She'll stay with us."

We all smiled and made our way over, so Jesus could introduce us. I was wondering what she was doing here, and I knew I wasn't the only one.

When James the Youngest made stammering and with a red head his intro, I gave Judas a grin, expecting him to raise his eyebrows amused. Instead of that, he was staring at Mary Magdalene and wasn't showing any signs to have heard James, let alone have seen my look. While Matthew was speaking (he always talked very long. We all said it was because he had been a tax collector) he suddenly turned around, causing everyone to look at him. He walked over to his own stuff, and took our moneybag (did I say already he kept our money?).

He came over again and reached it to Jesus, his expression challenging. "Here. You'll need it."

Jesus looked from him to the moneybag, shook his head and pushed Judas' hand away. "You're mistaken, Judas."

Judas' eyes flickered for a moment. Then he turned around and threw the money between his belongings again. Jesus frowned. "I want to talk to you." He gestured we had to wait here, and followed Judas in the forest.

Bartholomew just had cleared his throat and tried to begin a new conversation, when the faint, just not audible voices stopped and Judas shouted: _"What do you mean by that?"_

"I just told you, Judas." Jesus voice grew also on force. "You're being stubborn for no reason. She is sorry for it!"

"She has nothing to do with this!"

"She has everything to do with this! That your mother is a prostitute has nothing to do with Mary's character!"

I think you can imagine the deafening silence around the fire.

"They're all the same!"

"No, they aren't! Your mother's profession had nothing to do with her ignoring you, Judas. She loved your father, and you remembered her of him. She couldn't stand having you around, because the wound was still too fresh."

"So you say it's alright she neglected me!"

"I didn't say that and I never will." Jesus sounded calmer. "It is an explanation, Judas, showing you that you're being childish. Even if you don't want to believe your mother loves you, Mary has nothing to do with her. She isn't a prostitute."

Judas snorted. "Oh, yes, of course, how silly of me, she's wearing practically nothing because she doesn't want to catch a cold," he sneered.

"She said she wasn't a prostitute anymore, so she isn't."

"If you believe that, you're even more stupid than I thought. You have no idea how often _she_ has said that to someone, just to make sure he wouldn't let her stand at the door."

"She couldn't help getting there, Judas, just like your mother. It's not easy feeding yourself and a child with air."

"Stop about my mother!"

"You're the one who keeps involving her. If you stop these stupid prejudices, I'll-"

"Oh, shut up!"

"If you want me to." It was silent for some time, and judging the rustling of the sand, Judas was pacing up and down. "Where are you going?" Jesus suddenly asked.

"Away." Judas sounded very sour, but somehow I knew he wasn't very angry anymore.

"You _are_ coming back, aren't you?"

"Sure. Just don't feel going back now. I think I'd hit someone."

"Be careful."

We heard Judas laugh. It was a bit forced, but still, he laughed. "You know I won't."

Jesus came back. He looked around, smiling. "It is very rude to listen to private conversations. Did you realise that?"

Suddenly everyone was talking and acting normal. Jesus sat down next to Mary.

* * *

A/N: Okay, for everyone who didn't get it: after Judas' father's death, his mother became a prostitute to be able to feed him and herself. she also neglected Judas, because he remembered her too much of his father. He left and met Jesus, whom he told everything. Now they meet again,and it seems like Judas has two sisters now, who will become also prostitutes because of a lack of money.

Don't forget to mention your favourite character! And PLEASE review!


	6. Thomas

**Disclaimer:** Nothing, noppes, nada.

**Author's sarcasticnote:** Wow! How wonderful! Of the 30 people who read the last chapter, only one cared to reivew! (my other review I have from someone who read the first chapter) Keep going, I'd say!

**Author's apology:** I apologize for the note above. I should learn to control myself more. I still count on two reviews before I start thinking about updating. Anyway, I know Jesus was baptized before the apostles came together, but I just wanted to write this. Sue me.

Long live Jinace! (bit too enthusiastic? OK, I'll remember, sorry.)

* * *

_Okay, I suppose I should get started. But how do you start a thing like this? _

_$ù£µç§&29$ Stupid pen!_

_Okay, I'm starting over. Scratch the last thing. _

_Today, Peter came to me, with the small book I had Mary, Simon and Andrew already seen writing in. _

"_Thomas, would you care to write something?"_

"_Is that that book Simon was cursing over?"_

"_Yes. Jesus'd like you to write something, an event, one of your memories with the apostles."_

"_Sure. Don't know if it'll work. Where's Jesus, by the way? I was searching for him later, and I couldn't find him."_

_Peter sighed. "He hasn't been out the Grand Confer Hall since yesterday. It seems like there's another war on hand."_

"_Well, blast!"_

"_Yeah, I know."_

"_Well, I'll write it," I said, taking the book, "but don't expect a masterpiece."_

"_Of course not. I'm sure you'll do well. Oh yes-" he dug a pen up out of his pocket and handed it to me. "-could you use this one?"_

"_What for?" I examined it curious. It didn't look very different from another pen._

"_It's one who writes exactly what is being said or thought. Well, thoughts are a bit more difficult than that, but you think of an event, and the pen will write it for you in your own words."_

"_Okay. Why do we use this one?"_

_Peter chuckled. "Oh, Simon was using a lot of adjectives in the story and wasn't entirely honest, so-"_

"_I thought it was rather nicely put. Beautiful descriptions," Lucifer said promptly, appearing right behind Peter. I almost got a heart attack and jumped about a meter in the air._

"_Blast! Would you please stop that! That's very irritating!"_

_Lucifer just grinned nastily. _

"_What are you doing here, sneaking behind people?" Peter asked friendly._

"_Mmh? Oh, gotta go to the Big Nagging Room. Or there's gonna be another war, or they'll start bickering 'bout my paperwork. Like I can help that they're sending so many people to HellI can't keep count."_

_"And you're just to lazy," Peter added._

_"We all have our little virtues," Lucifer admitted."You're talking about the events-thing?"_

"_Yes. About that half page Simon wrote, and I had to remove."_

"_Why?" I asked curiously._

"_He was describing Judas."_

"_Ohhh." That explained everything. I bet you everything he had been cursing whole the time._

"_It was wonderfully written," Lucifer said admiring. "I'd like to teach him. With a bit of exercise-"_

"_I don't think Jesus would approve," Peter said dryly. "He doesn't even like you cursing."_

_Lucifer winced. "I'm trying to stop when he's around," he complained. "But it isn't easy. It's become a habit, dammit!"_

"_Well, I need to go, Peter," I said. "Better get started on this. See you."_

"_Yeah, I need to go too. Peter, Thomas." He nodded to us and sauntered away._

* * *

_So that explains that bit on the start. It's a really irritating thing, that pen. _

"_Yeah, I'm talking to you, stupid piece of magic! Stop writing when I'm talking to you! Blasted-"_

* * *

_I'd better start with the event, or there's going to be a pen-murder in Heaven. I think I'm going to talk about Jesus' christening._

_Oh, I'm Thomas, by-the-by. The one everyone calls Doubting Thomas. I even liked Iscariot's Tommy more. But anyway, I'm stuck with it now. If you don't know the story, ask the Holy Spirit. He's still doing haughty to me because of it._

* * *

It was the worst day in fourteen days. It was the second Tuesday. It was the day Matthew had to cook.

We ate fish, thick motes of fish we had (or rather, Peter, Andrew, Phillip, John and James) had caught with some stuff we had lend from a fisher. It was late in the evening, and we sat along the Jordan-river. Phillip had built a small fire, and was now trying to direct Matthew in the cooking, like every second Tuesday. The others were talking, but I was feeling rather tired, so I just leaned against a tree and listened lazily to Phillip and Matthew's conversation.

"You shouldn't put the fish in those ashes, you know," Phillip was advising, looking critically at the ashes Matthew had removed from the fire and where he wanted to lay the fish in, so they would be fried. "There're still too hot. You're going to burn our food."

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew grumbled, covering the fish under ash. The edges of the fish curled around and it started to look black.

"Told you so," Phillip murmured.

"Judas! Make him go away!" Matthew complained to Judas, who sat the closest.

Judas looked up from his conversation with Jesus. "Leave him alone, Philly. He can burn the supper without any help." Jesus smiled, and I bit on my lip, a small grin on my face.

"Gee, thanks," Matthew replied sarcastically.

"Any time, Matt." He turned to Jesus again. Simon came a bit closer, wanting to know why I was smiling.

"Well, Matthew, what's _that_ supposed to be!" Simon asked, giving the totally black fish a disgusted look. "Are you trying to fry your shirt?"

"It's better than last week," I remarked, opening an eye. "Then he tried to fry his _shoes_."

"If you all can do it better, then-" Matthew said heated.

"We _can_, Matthew, that's the whole problem," James the Less pointed out.

"Stop it now," Jesus said softly while we all laughed. Matthew was looking very sour. "He's doing the best he can." We all went back to our business, some still chuckling, and I leant back against the tree, dozing off until supper.

* * *

"I think I should get baptized," Jesus announced quietly, like he was more talking to himself than to us, while we ate Matthew's shirt. It didn't taste that bad after all.

Bartholomew choked on Matthew's sleeve. Or the fish,give it thename you like.While Thaddaeus patted him on the back, James, son of Zebedee, asked amazed: "What for! If there's anyone with no sins at all, it's certainly you!"

"I just think it's necessary," Jesus replied to the fish, head bowed.

"If you ask me," Matthew muttered, still not very cheerful because of the shirt/fish thing, "that's a complete waste of time."

"But nobody asked you," Simon interrupted, at the same moment Judas asked Matthew interested: "Are you in a hurry?"

First Matthew cast Simon an angry look and said: "Well you-" Then he realised what Judas had said and he turned to him. "Huh?"

"You said it's a complete waste of time," Judas explained, "so I asked if you were in any hurry. Do we have to do anything? Is there a contest of anything?" He looked friendly-curious.

"Err…" Matthew looked around imploringly, searching for help. Jesus was still gazing at his fish, like he was ashamed.

"Well, anyway Matt, if there is a contest of some sort, let me know if you've won." Judas leant back. "Meanwhile, I'm going with Jesus. He'd like to be baptized."

"You don't have to come all," Jesus informed his fish. He looked to us. "Judas will come. I won't mind if you wouldn't like to come."

"Of course we're coming with you," Mary smiled, taking his hand.

"Yeah," Matthew said, slightly red in the face, "of course we're coming with you."

Jesus laughed. He hadn't done that for a while. "Thank you."

* * *

"Where do you think that damned John is?" Simon asked panting, sweat running over his brow.

"He isn't damned!" Andrew snapped. The sweat stood also on his brow. He was a bit over-protective when it went about John the Baptist. He had met Jesus when he had been listening to him, so he couldn't stand any remark about him which didn't praise him.

"Sorry, Andrew," Simon lifted his hands in an apologising gesture. "It's just that we've been looking for him for four fuck-"

"Simon!" Jesus turned around, shocked.

"Four hot days," Simon corrected hastily. "And it's so hot you can fry our supper on me."

"I don't think anybody'll want to eat that, Simon, if it cheers you up," Judas said good-humouredly. I don't know how he did it, but I do know I was terribly jealous of his completely dry clothes and happy mood, like the heat wasn't suffocating at all. Jesus white robe wasn't wet either. But, well, he was the Son of God, after all, so that he didn't have any problems at all, I didn't mind. But that Judas, who was clearly human should be so irritating superior, was quite annoying. I was panting and sweating so hard I didn't have anything dry left. Everything and everybody was soaked.

"Let-let's sit for a while, please," Mary begged, when we had reached the top of a huge sand hill. She pushed her hand in her side, indicating she had trouble with her milt. We all fell down under the only tree for miles.

"That's better," Peter murmured, sitting down in the shadow. John and James the Younger began to climb in the old tree.

Jesus sat down also, his arms around his knees. "So, tell me, Jesus," I said, kneeling next to him. "Why do you want to be baptized?"

"I- I just think it's necessary, Thomas," Jesus repeated.

"But it doesn't make any sense! What could you have done wrong?" I exclaimed.

"Nothing, of course," Peter mingled in the conversation.

"But why do you want to be baptized then?" My face showed clear incomprehension. I always wanted –and want- to understand everything. It's seems to be one of my mistakes.

"I'd rather- not talk about, Thomas," Jesus answered hoarsely. He began to look around, as if seeking for help, first for Mary, who was chatting merrily with Phillip, then for Judas, who frowned and came over.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, looking from me to Jesus.

"Err… not that I know about," I replied, looking from him to Jesus, who was staring at the ground again. He shrugged and sat down next to Jesus. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to, Jesus, I was just wondering," I muttered, slightly offended. I knew I wasn't as close with him as for example Peter or Judas, but I thought we were better friends than that.

"It's-It's just-" he looked up, begging, "I really rather not talk about it, Thomas. Do you really mind?" How can yoube angry withsomeone who is so damned sorry about it!

"'F course not, Jesus," I answered, softened a bit. "I'm sitting over there." I gestured vaguely to Bartholomew and Thaddaeus, with whom I mostly talked. He nodded, looking back at the ground, and I, for the first but not last time in my life, felt angry at myself for my damned curiosity. Why couldn't I just follow him without asking all those questions that clearly upset him?

I remembered the first time we met. The apostles around him had told me who he was, that he could do miracles.

* * *

"_Oh yeah?" I looked suspicious. "Well, if you can do miracles, make in this piece of desert-" I gestured around me. There was not a drop of water near- "Let here a flower bloom."_

"_I could do that," he said softly._

"_Why don't you?"_

"_It would be nice if you just believed me, Thomas." He looked amiable, though a little sad._

_I frowned. I couldn't recall myself giving him my name. "I don't believe anything I haven't seen proven, bud."_

_He sighed. "Well, then." He kneeled down, under the protest of some apostles (I later learned it were Andrew and the two Jameses) who said he didn't need to waste his time on a non-believer._

_He touched the ground._

_Under the touch of his finger the ground split and from nowhere appeared a flowering bush of a wonderful, beautiful purple flower, which, though spreading a soft, caressing scent, seemed as sad as him._

"_Look, Thomas," he smiled. "Your flowers wear your birds." And indeed, from between the bush appeared little blue birds which sang beautiful, but also a very sad melody. They flew away, to the sky._

_I fell on my knees. "Your birds have flown away," he remarked to me, slightly absent-minded staring at the sky._

"_But your bird, my Lord," I said hoarsely, "is still sitting here."_

_He smiled and turned to the bush again. "It will die," he said to no one in special. "It's the wrong season and there's no water."_

* * *

"There!" somebody yelled. I looked up. James the Younger and John sat in the tree and were pointing in some point in the direction of the river. "I see John the Baptist!" James shouted.

We all stood up and looked in the direction they were pointing. And indeed, not far away, stood, half in the water, a huge man.

Not really of length, but, God, he had the broadest shoulders I had ever seen! He looked like he could even knock Peter out. And like he was _dressed_. He wore clothes of some yellow grass, which stuck in every direction. Andrew had told me it was camel hair. Around his waist he wore a girdle of thorns and his beard looked like it had been made in the same material. Andrew had told me he lived on honey and grasshoppers, but I didn't want to think how he would look when he ate normal food, if he was as big as he was now.

Jesus started to walk in John's direction and we all wanted to go with him, but even before I had set one step, he turned around again and motioned us to sit down again. "I'm going alone," he said friendly.

"Shouldn't somebody go with you?" Simon tried.

"No. I'll go alone. If you sit over there," -he pointed at a rock about six feet away- "you'll be able to see me, if you really want to. But I'm going to John alone." He gave us a last smile and walked away.

Simon groaned and sat down. "I don't think he should go alone," he grumbled at it.

"What could possibly happen?" Peter asked mildly while Judas walked over to the rock and sat down, his eyes on the withdrawing figure. Mary seated herself beside him.

"Anything! Everything!"

"I don't think he'll be able to fall from a cliff," Thaddaeus observed dryly while he, Bartholomew and I moved too to the rock. I sat at Judas' other side.

"But he could... err… drown!" Simon exclaimed.

"In water that doesn't even come to his chest?" Andrew said sceptically and he, John and James the Younger sat down left of me.

Jesus and John were softly talking together.

"Yeah, why not?" Simon sputtered. "Maybe he can't swim."

"Like a water rat," James, son of Zebedee, said smugly and he, Matthew and Peter joined us.

"If you don't trust it, Simon, just come over and keep an eye on him," Peter added.

Simon muttered something darkly and came over to stand next to us.

Jesus and John, in the meanwhile, had talked for some time, and Jesus now said something to John, who threw his arms in the air and exclaimed something, looking very surprised. Jesus said something else and John sighed, shrugged and motioned Jesus to take off his robe. Jesus did so and he followed John in the water.

I felt somebody moving next to me and looked up. I saw Judas staring fervently at Jesus, something burning in his eyes I couldn't name. I thought for a moment he was angry. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but his gaze was so unnerving I –I admit it- was actually afraid. His nostrils widened, like a tracker who had smelled the scent of a gazelle. His mouth was slightly open, like he wanted to yell. And, God, his eyes flamed while looking at Jesus, who stood half-naked in the Jordan River and was being dowsed by John, who was saying prayers meanwhile.

I looked quickly away and tried to concentrate on Jesus. This wasn't something I wanted to see, Judas gazing at Jesus like he hated him, would hunt him down and kill him. I didn't want to know.

Sometimes I think I've witnessed the first spark of treachery in Judas.

Jesus and John came out the water. Jesus put his robe back on, said something to John, which he answered, they embraced and then Jesus turned around and came back.

He looked pleasantly surprised when he saw us all sitting and waiting. "It's done," he said softly, smiling more truly and less absent-minded since weeks. The sadness that always seemed to hang around him had disappeared.

I threw a quick look at Judas and immediately looked away again. His look seemed to have only increased while he stared at Jesus, watching him in his robe which stuck against his wet body.

_You just don't want to think about that_, I told myself, _you aren't curious for that_. And it was true. For the first time I really didn't want to know.

"Where are we going now, Jesus?" Andrew asked eagerly.

"To Jerusalem," Jesus answered. "We're going to celebrate Pesach."

"Our third Pesach together, do you know that?" John cheered.

* * *

A/N: Yes! Yes! Anyone who knows Jesus travelled around three years before being killed, knows... it's almost there! I am talking a lot about Judas lately, am I not? Any objections to that? Not that I'll listen, but you can try.  
Anyway, review please! 


	7. John son of Zebedee

**Disclaimer:** No, and I didn't get the patent on the universe either.

**Author's note:** Hope everybody likes this damned story, for there's only one person who reviews, while there are people with an alert! I'll come after you if you don't review! And I'm going on vacation now, for three weeks, so please, c'mon, please, _please_ review! I'm begging you! Pleaaaaaaase!

BIG hugs for Jinace!

* * *

_Good day to you all. My name is John, son of Zebedee. _

_There are strange things going on, like always have and always will be. Only, those things normally happen on earth, not in Heaven. There have been problems before, but not in Heaven. Heaven used to pass by them, the ever-lasting Spectator._

_There's something brewing._

_We are sitting with all the apostles, including Matthias, in a small room that has been designed for us. The walls are of a safe, warm blue, and large wooden rafters in the same, thick old wood as the furniture. The canopies are of a slightly darker blue and in every sit about three apostles. Mary is staring in the flames of the fire burning in the hearth, Peter and Phillip are playing chess, which they do almost every time we sit here, once they had found out the game existed. I sometimes play it too. Bartholomew, Matthew and Thomas are talking together and James the Younger is laughing with something Andrew just had told him. Matthias is interested asking James, my brother, and Thaddaeus about the time he hadn't joined the apostles. Simon had been bored, so he had decided to come and look over my shoulder. I can tell you, he's been livid about this story (especially over the pen, I believe) since he had to write it._

"_What are ye trying to do, write a thriller?" Simon looks curious over my shoulder._

"_I'm writing my point of view, Simon, that's all."_

"_There he is! Damned pen! Stop writing, ye stupid-" Simon grasps it and tries to snap in two. Suddenly a fountain of ink comes out the top of the pen, miraculously only spraying black liquid on Simon, who sputters and curses when the stuff covers whole his face. Stupid idea, because now it's also in his mouth._

_While everyone laughs, the pen jumps out his hand and starts to write on the paper again._

"_Here Simon," suddenly a voice says tired from the door. We all turn around. In the door stands Jesus, seeming on the very point of breaking. He has a towel in his hand and reaches it out to Simon._

"_Jesus!" We all come on our feet and rush to him, bombarding him with questions. _"_How are you?", "Are you alright?", "Where have you been?", "What has been decided?" etc. _

_Quite unnerving, so he put up his hands and motioned us to be silent. "There will be no war," he smiles. A huge amount of noise breaks out, so he immediately puts up his hands again, a pained look on his face. The rumour dies away, only Simon's sputtering is still audible, until a rather clear: "Whaddy wrtin'?" leaves his mouth hidden behind the towel._

"_Pardon?" Bartholomew blinks._

"_What's he writing?" Simon repeated, spitting out some ink and pointing at the pen._

_I walk over to the wooden table. "He just has described you being err- sprinkled with ink, he's describing Jesus' enter, and now he's writing what I'm saying. Oh, yeah, he already wrote you muttering something like -wait- 'Only Simon's sputtering is still audible, until a rather clear: "Whaddy wrtin'?" leaves his mouth hidden behind the towel.' Nice written, though I say it myself. My very thoughts."_

"_Well, ye darn-" Simon reaches out again for the pen, but Peter stops him._

"_Don't you think one time's enough?"_

_Simon looks very sour. "I'll get you," he swears to the pen._

_The pen spits a bit of ink in his direction._

* * *

_Simon has been a bit frustrated. He's very worried about Jesus, like we all, and he has nobody to talk about it. He used to talk to Judas about everything that bothered him. He can't do that anymore now._

_I look up. "Really, there was no reason to write that down too," I tell the pen. "That was a very private thought."_

_I'm sure the pen would've shrugged if he was able to._

* * *

_They said I should talk about the way this little book has been given to me, so here you go:_

"_Peter!" _

_Peter turns around. "Hi, John. What are you doing here?" I was leaning against the wall next to thehuge doors of the Grant Confer Hall._

"_I was waiting for Jesus. I just wanted to leave again, because Lucifer came out and told me it would take a couple of days longer."_

"_I didn't know he was allowed to go out during a meeting."_

"_I know," I replied. "I asked him, and he told me he needed to go to the loo."_

_Peter frowned. "He's dead –well, kind of. He doesn't need to go to the loo."_

"_I told him that too," I said helplessly. "And he just grinned nastily and said: 'I know'. I don't get it."_

_Peter smiled. "That's no big deal, John."_

"_Who is going to write in it now?" I point at the book._

"_I don't really know."_

"_Shall I do it?"_

"_Sure. Then I can go back to Phillip. We were playing chess." He smiles, and turns around._

* * *

_I think I'll write about the Last Supper. Or no, rather the evening before we would enter Jerusalem. When Jesus for the first time ever became angry and cried._

We all sat around the fire, like usual. I was staring at the stars and listened meanwhile to Peter, who was softly talking to Phillip about fishing.

Sometimes I wondered if you could fall _into_ the sky. Would you then fly between the stars? What was the moon, who was lying on a soft pillow of clouds,made of? How come the stars gave light? Maybe a bit stupid, but I often wondered about it at night.

Jesus was pacing up and down, around the fire, from the left to the right... for the entire evening already. Seeing he had snarled at Andrew when he had asked if there was something wrong, nobody dared to ask him anything.

Bartholomew, who had gone to make a little walk, came back. Just before he was in the reach of the light of the fire, he stumbled and made a forward roll. When he came on his feet again, he looked quite surprised. Some apostles smiled secretely and Simon coughed, which seemed more a disguisted laughing. Bartholomew became red. "I _meant_ to do that," he said dignified.

"Then it certainly worked well, Barty," Judas smirked.

Bartholomew looked at him for a moment, trying to find a reply, and then grudgingly sat down. "Are you alright, Bartholomew?" Jesus asked, standing still for a moment.

"Yeah," Bartholomew nodded reluctantly.

"Good," Jesus replied absent-mindedly and started to pace up and down again. Finally Thomas asked: "Jesus, what's wrong?"

"I- need you all to- to leave. Now." He started to sound close to hysterics.

"Okay," Andrew said immediately. "For how long? Five minutes? An hour?"

"For-forever," Jesus said hoarsely.

"What!" ten voices sounded from all sides, followed by "Why?", "What do you mean?", "How come?" and "I'm not leaving!"s.

"You- Just- Please go!" There was a tear in his eye, I noticed.

"Everybody!" Peter shouted. There fell a silence, which only was broken by Jesus hard breathing. He was staring at the ground. "Why do you want us to leave, Jesus?" Peter asked friendly, trying not to upset him even more.

"Why?" Jesus muttered and looked up. "That's of no importance. I need you all to leave, and pretend you've never heard of me. Please. Your lives depend on it." He looked around begging.

Everyone began to look at each other, hesitant and nervous. Everybody began to feel the need of leaving, the urgency with which Jesus talked, but nobody wanted to be the first to leave.

"I'm not going," a voice sounded. We all turned around and looked at Judas. He was looking quite challenging at Jesus, like to say 'make me'.

"I'm not going either," I said immediately. Everyone followed.

Jesus eyes burned. "Why not?" he shouted suddenly. "Why not die? Yes, you'd better all stay. So Peter," -he pointed at Peter- "can be hanged upside-down on a cross, so Phillip," –he whirled around and pointed at the person he named- "Thaddaeus, Bartholomew and Simon can be crucified, so James," –the finger pointed at my brother- "can be stabbed by a sword, so Matthew can be beaten to death with a halberd, so Andrew can be crucified on a cross in the form of an X, so James can be stoned and clubbed, so Thomas can be stabbed with a spear…" he broke off, trembling, and sat down. We all had listened stupefied, hardly catching what he meant.

After five minutes of silenceJudas spoke. "And me, Jesus?" We looked up. "And John and Mary? How are we going to die?" The burning look in his eyes was a quite scary combination with his defying voice. Now I thought about it, Jesus indeed hadn't mentioned any of us three.

"Mary… Mary and John shall live to their death of age, but they won't sleep, having nightmares that will drive them almost crazy if they do," Jesus said softly. "And you, Judas…" his voice became harsh,"Why don't you stay away from olive-trees, for you'll hang yourself at one." To be honest, nobody doubted his words. We all knew Jesus was incapable of lying.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel very disturbed. The idea of dying was of course not really set my mind at ease, but I felt rather like Jesus had said that we were all going to die, instead of how. And everyone knows he's going to die, at the moment he's born.

Some of the others though, didn't seem to feel like that. Thaddaeus saw very pale, just like James the Younger, and Matthew was slightly trembling. "And-and you?" Mary asked. "Are-are you going to be killed too?"

Jesus nodded and suddenly started to cry, burying his face in his hands. First I thought it was because he was afraid of dying, but like I a bit later found out, it wasn't. Mary stared at him, like she couldn't believe what he had just told her. "You're not going to be killed," she whispered. "That's impossible." Her eyes were wild.

"It's-It's my fault," Jesus sobbed muffled between his fingers. "It's all-" what followed we couldn't understand. Judas moved a bit closer and then tried to put an arm around Jesus without having to touch him it seemed, in which he of course failed miserably. Jesus leant against his shoulder, like I used to do when I was little with James, if I had had a nightmare. For a moment Judas winced, but then he hesitant put his other arm around Jesus too. The nervous look on his face, like he had to do something for the very first time in his life and he had actually no idea of how to do it, would've been quite amusing in any other circumstance.

Judas was patting Jesus awkwardly on the back, a helpless look in his eyes. "Calm down, Jesus," he muttered.

Calm down. Just the thing to say, I thought. Judas had noticed that too. He looked pained and begging to us all, as if saying 'God damned, help me instead of watching like idiots!'.

"Stop it, Jesus," Peter said when Jesus sobs became softer. "Get a grip on yourself. It's not your fault."

"Yeah," Simon added. "We choose to stay. You've got nothing to do with that."

"I wish you had never met me," Jesus muttered against Judas' shoulder.

"Don't say that!" Thomas said hard.

"I'll have to live with the idea it's all, all my fault."

"But if we did go," I remarked softly, "we'd have to live with ourselves. That's even more terrible."

That seemed to calm him a bit. "You're all crazy." He looked up and smiled strained.

"We can't help it," Andrew replied. "Judas taught us to."

"I did not!" Judas said, acting offended. His arms were still around Jesus. "You didn't need any teaching!"

Laughter followed and Jesus smiled again, with watery eyes. He turned to Mary, whose eyes were also very moist as she still stared at him. I don't think she had listened to a word of the conversation.

Jesus put out his hand, carefully touching her cheek. Judas was gazing at the fire again, like he didn't want to see what happened. "It's alright, Mary," Jesus soothed.

"You cannot die." Tears streamed no freely over her cheeks.

"I am the sun of Men. I am capable of dying. But I promise will see each other again, in this life or the next."

Nobody spoke a word for the entire night. We all sat, watching the air like somebody had written something interesting upon it. I for myself could hardly grasp the impact of Jesus' words. James would die. I would have nightmares for the rest of my life. Every other apostle would die. Judas would hang himself, a death sin. It was something that just was so far away, so surreal.

But it wasn't.

* * *

Rather creepy, eh? No? Not even a bit? Not creepy at all? Oh, I'm getting really depressed. Could somebody cheer me up:'( 

Anyway, three reviews (what do you want, I only got one on the last chapter), please.


	8. Matthew

**Disclaimer:** Yes,I own the Bible.

**Author's note:** If you believed the thingI wrote above, you're even more stupid than me. I've decided to write anyway and stop caring about reviews.

Ididn't fool anyone, did I? Oh, please, please review!

Jinace, Jinace, she's our woman, if she can't no one... loman, doman, soman... Well, you know. LOVE to Jinace!

* * *

_Greetings._

_My name is Matthew. I used to be, before I met Jesus Christ, Heavenly Lord, son of our Lord, a tax collector. I'm sure you've heard of me._

_First of all, I would like to give some clarity in these events which are told in this little book. We need to give at least an order of appearance and I demand that everybody who comes after me tells when his story took place._

_1. Andrew's story_

_2. Mary's story_

_3. Simon's story_

_4. Thomas's story_

_5. John's story_

_I've got this_ _little booklet from Jesus, after he had read the three chapters which had been written while he was in the Great Confer Hall. I met him when he was going to Heavenly Garden. The other apostles had already gone outside and he walked before me, absorbed in the pages._

"_Jesus! Wait a moment!"_

_He turned around and smiled absent-mindedly. "Hello, Matthew."_

"_You're going to the Heavenly Garden, I suppose?"_

"_Yes. Will you walk with me?"_

"_If you don't mind."_

"_Of course not." So we walked together. He still looked at the ink, sometimes turning a page around. "Did you go to visit your family?"_

"_Yes, I did." My family exists out of my father, my mother, my seven sisters and me. So it's not really surprising I understand a lot of women._

"_How are they? Did you give them my greetings?"_

"_They're fine and they were glad with those greetings." To be exact, my mother almost fainted and my two youngest sisters didn't stop screaming in awe._

"_Do you like it?" I asked, pointing at the book._

"_What? Oh- the Events. Yes, I do. It's… revealing. Really. If I had known all this…" He looked at me and suddenly smiled genuinely. "Would you like to write something, Matthew?"_

"_Of course…" I hesitated and then carefully asked: "may I also… tell something about the other chapters… like when they take place?"_

"_Sure." Some lights appeared in his brown eyes. "But don't overdo it, Matthew. I remember you told something about Simon and you ended up totally wet. Just when they happened."_

"_I'll be careful," I said hastily._

"_Go ahead, Matthew." He handed me the book and the meanwhile infamous pen._

"_Thank you. How do you use this?" I took up the pen and examined it curiously._

_We had reached the Heavenly Garden and sat down under a tree close to the Divine River. Phillip and John were playing chess while Peter was watching them, Mary was lying in the sun, now and then saying something to Matthias and Andrew. The latter placed his chair in the shadow when it became too hot, then replaced it in the sun as it became chillier. Bartholomew and James, son of Zebedee were discussing something over a book, and the others were, without exception, all in the Divine River. _

"_You place- no, **you** have to do it, take the pen over, please, Matthew- you place the pen on the paper, like that, yes, and then you think of what you want to write. You don't have to hold it anymore now."_

"_Cool!" I said surprised, when the pen started writing all by itself. _

_Jesus smiled, got up and walked to Mary, who welcomed him with a warm laugh._

"_What're ye doing?" Simon, totally soaked, came over. "Writing in that book again?" He read what the pen had written up till now and started laughing. "I always knew you had such girly ways of acting, Matt!"_

"_You're making me wet, Simon!" I complained. The water dripping out of his hair fell on my hand. Then I realised what he had said. "Huh? What do you-" He had read the piece about my family. _

'_My family exists out of my father, my mother, my seven sisters and me. So it's not really surprising I understand a lot of women.' I became red. "Shut up, Simon!" I hissed._

"_You're the only woman in the apostle-group, Matt!" he chortled, so everyone could hear it._

_Peter turned to us. "And what about Mary?"_

"_Yes, what about me?" Mary asked, an eyebrow raised. "Am I not a woman?" she sounded quite dangerous._

"_Well…" Simon said, also turning red. I watched him with pleasure. "I'm sorry, Mary, of course you're a-a woman too… I just didn't think of you as a woman…"_

_Mary's eyebrow shot up even more. "I should shut up if I were you, Simon," Iadviced softly, enjoying myself immensely. "She's at the point of exploding."_

"_Please explain that, Simon," Mary said, coldness dripping of her voice._

"_I -err- I better get back in the water," Simon replied hastily._

"_Very wise," she murmured, leaning back. "And Matthew, knowing something about women is a good thing."_

"_I noticed," Matthias muttered._

* * *

_So, I'll talk about the event now. I've taken the first miracle I ever saw Jesus perform._

I had met Jesus while the apostles tried to keep all his followers on a safe distance. I sat on a threshold, dreading my next visit as tax-collector. I had given the farmer and his wife already two months extra, against the wishes of my employer, but I knew it wasn't enough for them to be able to pay. I would have to remove them from the house. I was starting to hate my job.

"Do you mind?" I looked up. A man gestured to the place next to me.

"Go ahead," I said listlessly. He sat down beside me and leaned back, staring with dreamy eyes at the sky.

For the first time since I had sat down, I looked around. From the end of the alley came a lot of noise. "What's going on there?" I waved my hand in the direction of the noise.

"Mmh? Oh, some enthusiastic followers of someone try to come close to him, and his friends are stopping them."

I nodded. I knew perfectly well a mob was able to tear the person apart they worshipped. "Hope they don't get him."

"Me neither," the man smiled. "I wouldn't like them to tear _me_ apart." I stared at him. How could he know my very thoughts? Or was it coincidence?

"Yeah, that wouldn't be pleasant," I said automatically.

"Jesus!" A dark man came running as fast as possible from the end of the alley. "We have to hurry! We can't stop them long anymore." I stared again at the man next to me. Jesus? Jesus of Nazareth? _He_ was the one the mob wanted to get!

"Okay, Judas," he said calm. "This is Matthew." My eyes popped out of my sockets.

The guy called Judas looked at me and grinned widely. "Hi. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"To what?" Jesus frowned. Then he looked at me and sighed. "Oh, I apologize. You hadn't told me who you were, did you? I'm sorry, I sometimes forget if something has already been said or not."

"He sometimes answers questions when they aren't even asked," Judas remarked. He looked at the end of the alley again. "We really have to go, Jesus."

"Okay." He stood up and looked at me. "Are you coming?"

"Coming?" I gaped at him.

"You're a bit confused, aren't you, Jesus?" Judas frowned, looking worriedly at Jesus. "I think you're in the future again."

"Oh, God," Jesus said, placing a hand against his forehead. "I'm sorry. Third time today." He turned to me again. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked. "Would you follow me?"

I stared at him. Follow him… I thought of everything I had heard of him. I thought of what he had said to me. "Yes." I managed to speak finally. At least I wouldn't have to remove poor people from their houses.

He smiled genuinely since the first time I had met him. "Come then." He turned to Judas. "Were do we meet the others?"

"Outside the city," Judas answered. "They probably won't be able to get away from all those people, but the important thing is they won't notice we get by the others. There's a hill somewhere –what's its name- and Andrew and John went to set up camp there."

"Okay. You go along. We'll follow you."

So Jesus and I followed the handsome man to the other end of the alley. Jesus meanwhile explained things to me; no, he didn't really explain them. He asked me questions and I answered them. Sometimes he showed me how wrong I was; sometimes he told me his own ideas about it. I listened attentively and before I knew it, we were outside the city, at the foot of a large hill. Two young men came to us; these had to be Andrew and John. They had set up a camp between some rocks.

"Hey," one of them, the oldest, grinned.

"That's just great," Judas sighed mocking next to me, "we manage to escape from those enthusiastic fans, and the first thing we see, hungry and tired as we are, is Andy's face!"

"Please, Judas," Jesus said smiling. "This is Matthew," he said to the others.

The youngest smiled to me. "Hello, I'm John."

"Andrew," grumbled the other, looking murderous to Judas, who was whistling a little song while throwing his hair out of his eyes.

"The others are coming," John said quickly, pointing at the city. And indeed, eight men came in our direction, followed by a huge mob.

"They're bringing company too, I believe," Judas frowned.

Apparently someone had given orders, because when the mob arrived, they spread out and sat down, some with blankets or cushions. There had to be at least 1,000 men, I thought surprised, not to mention the children and women.

"Jesus, hey!" one of the eight who had walked in the front of the procession shouted. They came over.

Judas sighed again and cast his eyes to the sky. "The company isn't getting any better, I fear."

The man who had shouted lifted a fist, but the threatening move was contradicted by his big grin. "I heard that, Judas."

"Good, otherwise there's something wrong with your ears," Judas replied dryly, but he was also grinning. "Hey, everyone, meet Matthew, the new apostle."

I was introduced to the eight. The one who had been shouting turned out to be Simon the Zealot.

"Jesus I need to talk to you," the oldest of the group, called Simon Peter, said. "You need to send them away. We have not enough food. Send them away so they can go and buy it themselves."

"Pete's got a point, Jesus," Judas remarked, looking at the people. "Even if you want to by food for them, we can't guarantee that everyone gets one bite."

Jesus frowned. "Do we have any food at all?"

"I've got five breads and two fishes," Bartholomew said hesitating. "But I meant to keep that for us."

"That'll do," Jesus said calmly. "Please get me twelve baskets." For a moment everyone just stared at each other, then Simon, Judas, John, Andrew, James the Younger and James walked away. After a while they came back, each carrying two baskets. "Thank you." Jesus took one bread, said clearly the prayers and broke it in two. He placed each half in a basket and did so with each bread. The two fishes were also blessed and laid in the remaining baskets. "So," said Jesus and said down. "Go and give every man, woman or child there one bread and one fish."

I stared at him. How could that possibly? Peter stared frowning at his basket and Thomas blinked surprised with his eyes. Judas, almost looking angry, suddenly took up his basket and walked resolutely to the mob. We all looked at him, except Jesus, who was drawing difficult figures in the earth. Judas took out a whole bread, followed by a fish, and handed it to the closest man.

My mouth fell open. Impossible! But yet it had happened. I turned to look at Jesus, who didn't pay attention to any of us, but just kept making figures in the sand. "Hey!" Judas shouted happily at us. "Are you going to let me do all the work?"

We all took up the baskets and followed him.

* * *

Jesus? Eat something." Judas sat next to Jesus and held a piece of bread which he tried to hand over to Jesus.

Jesus smiled and shook his head. "I'm not hungry, thank you."

"Com'on," Judas chided gently. "You need to eat a bit."

"If he's not hungry, Judas," James the Younger called from the other side of the fire, "don't make him eat."

Judas ignored him and just went on convincing Jesus. "You really need to eat, Jesus. It's not because you can multiple bread you don't have to eat."

"Com'on, leave him alone," Thaddaeus said loudly.

"Eat something, Jesus," Judas said softly, looking Jesus in the eye.

Jesus shook his head and turned away, like he felt sick if he looked at the food. "I'd rather not, Judas."

"Jesus, eat something! You're going to be sick!"

"He's going to be sick if you don't leave him alone!" Andrew remarked hard. "Don't be such a busybody, Judas."

Judas looked up, his eyes flaming. "He needs to eat something! He hasn't eaten since last night, you moron!"

"Oh, I'm a moron, am I?" Andrew yelled, standing up. "Offer your apologies!" John and Peter stood next to Andrew, ready to drag him along. "Are you insulting me?"

"Bravo, Andy! You understand what I mean!"

"Please stop," Jesus whispered. "I'll eat something. Please stop." Judas immediately turned away. Andrew stared at him, breathing loudly, and then also fell down, an annoyed expression on his face.

Jesus began eating, placing small pieces of the bread in his mouth and chewing slowly. Now and then he said softly something to Judas, who answered. They seemed to have forgotten the argument already. Andrew just stared angry at the fire.

I shove a bit closer to Bartholomew, who sat the closest. "Is it always like this? Do they fight often?" I whispered.

"Andrew and Judas? Not really, but at least… I'd say four times a week." He laughed when he saw my face. "I guess that is pretty often, isn't it? Judas has a really insulting way of making jokes, and Andrew doesn't really like that; he has quite a temper. Sometimes you wonder how he and Peter can be brothers." I looked at the older man next to Andrew. When Andrew would be older, they would probably resemble a great deal, but indeed, Peter seemed a lot calmer than the flammable young man next to him. But still; had I placed myself in the middle of a group of people who fought every two minutes?

Some time later, I stopped talking to Bartholomew and James, son of Zebedee, and went for a walk. I just thought about heading back, when I heard Judas and Peter. I thought about joining them, but then I decided against it; to be frank, I didn't really like Judas, though Jesus and he seemed to be really close. Peter I liked a lot, but I thought it better to just wait until they had left. Unfortunately, they stopped not far of the tree I was leaning against and sat down. I tried not to breathe to loud or move, and hoped they would quickly leave again.

Judas was the first who spoke. "I goddamned don't know what to do, Pete!"

"Don't start swearing, Judas," Peter answered calmly. "You know Jesus doesn't like that."

Judas used some words which made me blush. "I wonder what he would do if his best friend tried to kill himself every five minutes!"

"Don't overreact."

"Don't overreact, for god's sake, it's the fourth time this month he didn't eat whole day!"

"Fourth? I thought second."

"Four times, Pete, four!" I could hear him get up and pace up and down. A leaf was tickling in my ear and my knee was itching. "He won't eat unless I especially tell him to! It's driving me nuts!"

"Well, you do take good care of him. I knew he hadn't eaten this morning, but I thought he ate some of the cheese of this afternoon."

"He gave it to a beggar." Judas sounded quite grumpy. "God damn him, Pete!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I feel I'm going crazy! How can I protect him if he tries to kill himself?" My ear was now actually aching. It took me all my self-control to stop me from scratching.

"Calm down, Judas. Sit here." Judas slowly sat down again. "Do you know why he does that?"

"Not the faintest idea." Now Judas sounded quite defeated. It surprised me how huge his emotions were, while in the camp he had seemed almost indifferent. "I- he doesn't tell me, and I'm not going to ask him if he doesn't want to tell me." My ear almost hurt and I grasped my right hand with my left, to stop him from scratching. "I- I could get him away, if he wanted to, Pete, and I've told him so. We could go away and just- and leave all this behind. He wouldn't have to stay with me. I could get him some house, where he could live, and where everybody would leave him alone. If he really wants to get away, he doesn't have to kill himself." His voice shot up desperately. "I don't know what to do!" My ear!

"You can't really do anything, I think," Peter said pensive. "Just protect him. He trusts you completely. You're his best friend." Maybe it was because of the itching, but I thought I heard an emphasis on the last word.

"I guess so." Judas stood up. "Let's head back."

"Yes. Could you help me up?"

"No." Judging the rustling of the sand, Judas backed away.

"Okay." Strangely enough, Peter didn't seem to mind. "But I do think you should learn to touch people, Judas. They tend to find it impolite if you keep refusing to shake hands with anybody."

"Talking about that rabbi?"

"He's a close friend of Caiaphas."

"He's a downright git."

"Don't say that," Peter replied mildly. "He's someone you don't want against you."

"Certainly not. I can't understand why his wife hasn't committed suicide. Every night in bed with that guy, gross."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Peter said, chuckling softly. He immediately became serious again. "He could be dangerous to Jesus, if you insult him."

Judas was silent for a moment. "That's false play, Pete."

"It's the truth."

"Okay, I'll be polite, but don't expect me…" Their voices went away. I jumped from behind the tree and, shuddering of disgust, removed the hairy, black spider from my ear.

* * *

"I'm not feeling very well," I moaned, staring at Andrew, who was eating his fifth fish as breakfast.

"I'm gonna be sick," Simon choked out.

We were aboard a ship, sailing over the Sea of Galilee. Jesus had asked us to go already, saying he would follow. How he would follow us, nobody knew, but no one was so stupid as to ask it. It was already the fourth day we were on the ship, and though Simon and I had already recovered from the first day, when we had both been sick, but now, while a storm was beginning, it was coming up again.

"Burph," said Simon (or, at least, it sounded like that) and ran to the rail. I followed him just in time to barf.

"I'm gonna die," I uttered with difficulty.

"I wished I was already," Simon muttered, looking slightly green in the face. He lifted his head and looked behind up. Now he turned olive green and leant over the railing again. I slid on the deck and took out some parchment and a pen. It was My List Of Things That Irritate Me. I had started it a couple of days before; when I had found out all the nastier features of my fellows. Writing it down made it more bearable, somehow. Point one was _Judas, when he makes a joke about me_ and two was _Simon, when he's smug (which basically means he has invented a joke which will make not only himself laugh)_. Point thirty was _Ships, especially when they're sailing_ and thirty-one would be _Andrew, when he's eating while I'm sick_.

"Writing something down again, Matthew?" Phillip smiled. They all knew about my list already. I had explained every item on it to them.

"Yes," I muttered. "Ships generally. I absolutely hate them. Their size, the way they seem to float about the waves, how they shake me from head to toe… The next will be Andrew. It's so insensitive to start stuffing food in one's mouth when others are sick."

"Have you ever thought about putting very negative people on it?" Judas requested.

"You mean those people who keep nagging about all the things they don't like?" I asked enthusiastic, while starting writing it down.

"Yes."

"Oh, yes, they are irritating. Those who have a whole list with things that irri…" I stopped writing. Simon was chuckling softly, although still a bit green. Peter and Phillip were smiling and the others looked away, trying not to laugh. Judas had put up his most innocent face. "Very funny, Judas," I snapped, scratching _Very negativ_ on the page. Staring at the parchment made me feel sick again, so I turned around again while Judas muttered friendly it had only been a mere suggestion. I didn't pay attention anymore, for I had to throw up again.

"Are you two a bit alright?" John asked worried.

"Wonderful," Simon said sarcastic, his teeth clenched together. As well Phillip, John, Peter, James (son of Zebedee) as Andrew were fishers and had no trouble with the storm. Bartholomew and Thomas didn't feel well either, but they were inside the ship, in the cabin like Peter had told me it called, and claimed they would be alright as long as they wouldn't have to watch Andrew eat. As for Thaddaeus and James, who were cousins: they both had sailed often with their neighbour, who had also been a fisher.

"Why are those two so sick?" asked Andrew, pointing at Simon and me. He put out his hand for a sixth fish.

"I almost get sick too, when I watch you," Judas grinned. Andrew swallowed his huge bite and put out his tongue.

"He is a bit right, Andrew," Peter stated calmly. "Don't eat too much."

"How can you possibly eat too much?"

"You're on the way," James the Younger muttered.

Judas stood up and sauntered in our direction. "How's it hanging?" He leant against the railing, the salt wind playing with his hair. Enjoying, he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Don't ask stupid questions," I choked out, feeling a billow come up again.

He smiled. "I won't comment that, because you're sick."

"Thank you so much," I answered sarcastic.

"How _can_ you possibly eat all that?" Thaddaeus asked Andrew disgusted.

"I'm a healthy boy," Andrew answered when he had managed to bite through the fish. "I need to eat a lot."

"So does a pig," Simon whispered,only audible to me and Judas. Judas chuckled.

"Yes, but all that salt fish in the morning? Can't you just eat some bread?" James, son of Zebedee, asked.

"A good pig eats everything," Judas said happily and loud before Andrew could answer.

Andrew was just about to retort when Mark, the man who had taken us on his boat came running towards us. "There's- there's-"

"There's a what?" asked Peter.

"A-a ghost! On the water!"

"Don't talk nonsense," I muttered, but nobody heard me.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked who was coming on the deck again with Bartholomew.

"Mark claims he has seen a ghost in the water," Thaddaeus explained.

"Not in the water, but on!" The man was trembling in fright. "Walking over the water!"

"You haven't drunk seawater, have you?" Judas asked frowning.

"Go look for yourself!"

All Twelve and he went to the other rail, opposite the one Simon and I had just… well, thrown up over. And indeed, over the water walked a misty person. The waves he walked on calmed down immediately and he was walking right to us! Forgetting my sickness completely, fearseized me by the throat.Was it a devil? Maybe a sea monster! It would kill us all and…

Judas suddenly gave a shout of joy. "Jesus!"

Jesus! I bowed forward. It _was_ Jesus! He smiled half when he heard his name. God, he was walking on _water_! I couldn't believe my eyes. This was unbelievable!

"God, it _is_ Jesus!" John yelled.

"This is great!" Thomas announced. "How would he do that?"

"Wouldn't his feet get wet?" Simon wondered aloud.

"Could we do that too?" Peter shouted at Jesus.

"Of c…ourse," was the answer which came to us in fragments through the wind. "…Just don…t doubt."

"Com'on, Peter," Andrew whispered excitedly.

In one fluent move Peter jumped in the water. No. Not in the water. _On_ the water! He was standing on it too and now walked to Jesus. I gave a shout of gladnessand some of the others whistled and clapped.

Suddenly Peter stopped dead and looked hesitating down. We all froze. He gave a cry; he had begun to sink away! "Simon!" Andrew yelled, jumping forward; John and James the Younger stopped him.

"Jesus!" Peter shouted, falling quicker and quicker. Jesus was running now, almost flying over the water. At the moment only Peter's head stuck out the water he reached him. Jesus quickly grasped his hand and pulled him out of the water. Judas, meanwhile, had taken a rope from the deck (that's very convenient on ships, they always have somewhere rope in the way) and threw it over the rail, so the two could climb up. Simon, Thomas, James, son of Zebedee, and I also took hold of it and we started to pull them up.

"Simon!" Andrew embraced his brother when they stood on the deck.Peter's clothes were glued to his body and he was trembling from the cold. Thaddaeus and Mark gave him a couple of blankets so he could wrap himself in them.

"Simon!" Jesus saw very pale. I later found out he always called Peter Simon when he was agitated. "Why did you hesitate? You could've been dead!"

"I'm- I'm sorry, Jesus," Peter said, looking down. "I- I couldn't help it."

"Luckily you're alright," Phillip said worried.

"Yes, for now," Jesus muttered, looking away, at the sea. I don't think anyone understood what he meant.

* * *

Well, that was it for today. About the future-thing: I think Jesus could see in the future, but only the big lines, not the real details.

Muchos reviewos!


	9. Entr' Acte

**Disclaimer:** guess you all know what here is supposed to stand...

**Author's note:** My, you should see the clothes I've bought today! Err... I mean, enjoy. I know it sometimes doesn't really hang together, but hey, who writes this stuf!

Thanks to Satan's fangirl and Jinace, they give me the curage... to write my up till now worst written chapter. But the content is good! Don't go away!

۞

_I'm doing this &éç§èà!ù$µ£°8ùµ$ thing again! I'm not going to forgive Peter so easily. When I got down again, after half a day bickering by the Holy Spirit and my Brother, I found a note in my pocket, alongside this book and my pen. It read:_

'_We need to finish this. You've told me you know about the B. Tell everyone about it.  
P.'_

_So darn darn darn mean! Wait till I get my hands on him! The most terrible thing of all is that he's right! We do need to finish this and I'm the only one who is capable of telling about it. 7"ç'(§àè0(à§µ$¨£!_

_...But to be honest, it was pretty cool, if the trick wasn't played on me. I didn't know Peter could pickpocket anyone, let alone me._

_Yes, it's me again. Lucifer. I am sitting in my office, which is hacked out rocks. Behind me is a hearth, in which a fire is burning. My desk, behind which I sit, is made from oak wood. There lie some necessary things on it, like chewing gum, some designs of machinery, a list with the latest arrivals, some lemon shells, the list of all people who have sold me their soul last week and the two trays, one for arrived mails and the other for sent mails._

_At the other side of the desk, right in front of me, sits Judas of Iscariot, an incredulous, desperate look in his black eyes. Maybe I should explain what he's doing here. Everyone who gets in Hell, gets now and then a break. The length of the time between two breaks and the length of the break itself depend on the severity of the crime. Judas gets half an hour each thousand years. And th__at's now._

_He has been sitting here now for twenty minutes, not moving a muscle, just staring in thin air. His break is almost over, and he hasn't even realised it. Not that I not tried to distract him. I've been shouting in his ear, dancing on the table, standing on my hands on the table, falling off the table, hurting my nose by the landing, cursing so loud the entire Hell Security came to see what was wrong, sending them away, swearing even louder than before and slamming him in the face. It didn't do him anything. All he did was staring._

"_What's that?" I look up. His eyes have finally lost a bit of the desperation and look surprised at my pen, who is writing all by itself._

"_A pen and a book," I answer grudgingly. My nose still hurts from my fall._

"_I can see that."_

"_Why do you ask such a stupid question then?"_

"_No," he smiles, putting up a finger in complete the same manners as Matthew. "There are no stupid questions, only stupid answers. But I was wondering how the pen could write all by itself."_

"_That?" I put out my finger fondly and the pen allowed me to caress him, while making strange noises which sound suspiciously like purrs. "A little invention of mine. It writes down exactly what you're thinking. Handy and it has already irritated two people enormously."_

_He grins. "Really your style. What says that book?"_

"_Words."_

"_Seriously?" he sneers. "May I read it?"_

"_No way, buster!" I reply. He'd better not read anything about Jesus, it might make him mad._

"_Com'on, why not?" he frowns. "I'm not going to tear it or something."_

_Before I can reply the door opens, a lower Devil, hardly higher in rang than a Demon, steps inside and closes the door behind him. Then he salutes me and asks: "Can I come in, sir?"_

"_No stupid questions?" I say dryly, turning to Judas. "Surely that was one! Asking me if he can come in while he's already standing in the room!"_

"_It still wasn't a stupid question," he observes. A big smirk splits his face. "The person who asked on the other hand…" We both laugh. The Devil ignores Judas, but it is certain he has heard the remark, for he looks extremely unpleasant. Being insulted by the Traitor is something most Devils don't like._

"_What's going on?" I chuckle, placing my feet on the desk. Judas's break is actually over, but I don't feel like returning him to his cell already._

"_The Demon Dolor is stuck in one of the ovens, sir," he reports. "He tried to crawl in it and now he can't get out of it again."_

_I turn to Judas. "Those Demons are such idiots," I complain. "If they can't crawl into humans and mess with their mind, they try to crawl in **anything** that's in their way!" I glare at the Devil. "Well, go pull him out!"_

_The Devil blinks. "Of course."_

"_Judas, will you go with them?" I growl, finding a way to lengthen his break. "Dolor is quite heavy."_

"_Sure." He stands up and walks totally at ease past the Devil, who has now a little problem; everyone ignores the Traitor, but if he has to help him pull a Demon out of an oven, how can he do that?_

۞

_I'll tell now how my Brother told me about His son. So pay attention, for I'm not going to do it twice. It's forbidden to describe Him, I'm afraid; He's quite touchy if you do so._

"Ye called for me, Bro?" I fell down in one of the armchairs in the Imperial Observe Chamber, or, like I call it, the Peek Room. It has no walls, only windows from which you can look at different places on Earth. In the middle there are four armchairs and a white table.

"Yes." He turned from one of the window and looked severely at me, wrinkles between his frowned eyebrows. "And I thought I had asked you to stop calling Me your Brother."

"In the start You didn't mind."

He snorted. "That's now some time ago. Besides, that was before you had that stupid idea to 'rebel'."

"You didn't mind. You had finally someone to blame for all the Evil," I answered.

"Don't play the clever one, Lucifer." He turned back to the window. "I want you to meet someone."

"Sure."

"We'll have to go to Earth," He mentioned. "Israel, Judea, Nazareth. Follow Me." And He started to fade. I followed Him quickly. When I was visible again, I was standing not far from a little village, dressed like a pilgrim. My Brother, invisible to anyone except me, stood next to me. "Go to that house, over there," He pointed at the closest house, "And ask for some food and water."

"At your service."

When I came near the house, I saw that outside the house a man of twenty and a little boy of the age of five were polishing a piece of wood (have I told you already I have the ability to know people's age? It's not too difficult. If I had any time and you any talent, I could teach you). The man, who was probably the father of the boy, looked up and smiled at me. "At your way to Jerusalem, my friend?" he asked.

"And a long way I have still to go, good man," I smiled.

"Then we help you. I am busy for the moment, but my son will help you." He nodded to the boy. "Joshua, go with this man inside and tell your mother to make something to eat."

"Yes, daddy," the boy smiled, with big, brown eyes. I found myself staring surprised at him. He came to me and took my hand. "Come with me, sir. Mummy makes really wonderful soup."

"Does she?" I can't help smiling back. He looked behind me and his smile broadened a bit while he stared at the exact spot where my Brother was. Then he guided me to the house, inside. The house existed, like all in that time, only of a big room, in which was slept, eaten, cooked and everything else. Next to the fire sat a woman, with two children next to her, a little boy of three and a girl who wasn't older than one year. The woman was again pregnant, though not much more than a month.

"Mummy," Joshua announced as soon as I was in. "We have to give this mister a bit to eat."

The woman looked up and smiled wearily. "Will you watch James and Lisa for me then, Joshua, while I give him some soup?"

The boy immediately walked to the two smaller children and picked up the youngest, who had begun to scream as soon as her mother had turned away, and shove meanwhile with his foot the older boy away from the fire. The little girl immediately was silent and spent the rest of the time by snatching at her brother's lock of hair. The other boy followed his brother on his thick, pink legs as fast as he could. Joshua came to sit next to me, and his brother, who seemed to be a bit afraid of me, hid himself behind him.

"This is Lisa," Joshua informed me, while his sister tossed his finger around. "And my brother calls James. Have you ever been to Rome, sir?"

"Joshua!" his mother sharply said.

"No big deal, ma'am," I replied for the boy. "Yes, I have," I told him.

"Is it true they have more than one god there?"

"They have so many of them, they can't keep count. Now and then they make someone who died one too. But they aren't the only people. The Indies and the Greek do exactly the same. Do you know-" I added, by a sudden brain wave, "- that your name, in Greek, is Jesus?"

"Jesus?"

"Yes."

"I like it," he smiled. "And you, Lisa?" he asked the child, who tried to imitate him.

"E-uzzzzz."

"Finish this off, will you?" my Brother snapped. He was starting to get bored.

I quickly finished my soup (which tasted not bad), thanked the father of the children (who called Joseph) and was halfway the hill again when Joshua came running to me. "Bye-bye, sir!" he called.

"Goodbye, Joshua."

He ran after me. "Sir! Are you my uncle?"

"Huh?" I blinked.

"My uncle. Father-" he smiled at my Brother, who smiled back (wasn't He invisible?), "told me someone would visit who always called Him brother. That makes you kind of my uncle, doesn't it?"

"I-I suppose so," I answered while my eyes popped out of their sockets.

"Are you coming back?" His brown eyes looked expectantly at me.

"If-If you want to," I stumbled.

He smiled genuinely and walked back to the house, now and then turning around to wave.

My brother grasped my arm and a moment later we stood back in the Peek Room. I turned to Him. "Father?" I shrieked.

"Yes. He is My child." He walked serenely to an armchair and said down.

"And why?" I muttered, also sitting down. I would have probably fallen down anyway; my knees were trembling.

"Later. I first want you to meet some more people."

"Who-Who is he, exactly?" I said, not paying close attention to what He had said.

My Brother sighed. "His name is Joshua of Nazareth. The man everyone assumes to be his father is Joseph. Joseph is married to a woman called Mary. In the end, he will have four brothers, James, Joseph, Simon and Judas, and two sisters, Lisa and Susanna. He will travel through the country of Israel, spreading out a new teaching."

I nodded, not really listening. "Come on, Lucifer," my Brother said, stood up and took my arm. "Next visits you will be also invisible. We'll make these in a rapid succession, so pay attention."

We stood at the shore of a huge lake. "This is the Sea of Galilee," my Brother told me, his voice sounding casual. "Over there-" He pointed at a rock not far away, against which a young man and a small child sat, "-are Simon Peter and Andrew, his younger brother." We went a bit closer. The oldest, who was close to fifteen, was mending a net by retying the broken strings. Andrew, who was older than Joshua, seven to be exact, was trying to help him by making knots in every string he could reach. There was certain patience in the way Simon Peter kept undoing Andrew's work. "Simon will marry a woman called Esther," my Brother continued. "She will die giving childbirth. But let's go." And he took my arm again.

We stood in the middle of a house. A woman was sewing and a young man of Simon Peter's age was letting a child of the age of three ride horseback on his knee. "James and John, sons of Zebedee," my Brother informed, still with an almost bored voice. "James is the oldest. They will be nicknamed Boanerges, which means Sons of Thunder." He squeezed my arm.

We stood on board of a ship, next to a man of middle age and a boy who was twelve. "Phillip," my Brother gave a nod in the boy's direction. Squeeze.

We stood in the middle of a room, in which a little girl of four years old was being beaten up by an older man. "Mary of Magdala or Mary Magdalene. Will become a prostitute." Before I could even move, let alone help the sobbing girl, He squeezed in my arm again.

We stood in the middle of a field, in which some men and boys were ploughing while the sweat streamed of their backs and faces. My Brother pointed at a boy of ten years old, who was helping an older man. "Bartholomew." Squeeze.

We stood outside a house. A boy of nine year old was twisting his features at his little sister, who crowed with delight and clapped. "Thomas. Will also be called Doubting Thomas." Squeeze.

We stood in a room with big windows. A boy, small for his age (nine), sat frowning bent over a book. "Matthew." Squeeze.

We stood under a fig tree, together with two boys. The one of the age of eight was helping the one of the age of six up, so he could reach one of the figs. "James and Judas Labbaeus Thaddaeus. Two cousins. Will also be called James the Younger or James the Less and Thaddaeus. Thaddaeus is helping James up." Squeeze.

We stood outside a house and a boy of eight years old came running out on top speed. A shrieking woman voice followed him. "Simon! You get immediately back here! You're going to pay for that broken vase! Commere-"

I chuckled. "Simon," my Brother observed. "Will later be called Simon the Zealot."

"I think I like him," I grinned.

"I was sure you would." Squeeze.

We stood in the middle of a room, but there was no question about the money of the owner. In a corner stood a bed, while people in that time slept on straw mats. There stood a table before us, with a fireplace on the left. Also, there was behind us a tapestry which had to be used to cover the passageway to another room. The front door could be closed by a real wooden door.

In the opening of the door, stood a woman, with such voluptuous clothes her job wasn't hard to imagine. She was looking outside while she feigned her hips, so she couldn't see the boy who came from behind the tapestry.

"Judas of Iscariot," my Bother whispered in my ear. "His mother is the one at the door. His father died four years ago. Our little Judas here looks exactly like him." I expected Him to squeeze in my arm again, but strangely enough He eyed the boy, so I followed His example. He was eight years old and looked shyly at his mother's back. His hair fell in his eyes and his black eyes held at the same time fear and complete adoration. He shuffled to the door, his shoulders tense, and held out a rather clumsy made, wooden horse. Judging the many cuts and dried blood on his fingers it wasn't hard to imagine who had made it.

"Mummy…" he whispered and pulled at the end of her dress.

"What!" the woman whirled around. Her eyes flamed.

Judas shrank visibly. "I-I made this fo-for you," he squealed and lifted the little horse. There was a certain begging note in his voice.

His mother took it up and examined it uninterested. Then she turned and threw it over her shoulder. It bounced against the wall and fell on the bed. "Go back behind."

Judas hadn't made a sound when his precious gift had flown through the air, but his mouth had slightly opened as if he wanted to yell and his eyes had a desperate quality. He walked to the bed, shivering, and picked up the little horse. It had lost an ear when it came in contact with the wall. His trembling fingers touched the empty spot and he turned around to the woman who was his mother again. His eyes burned now as much as hers had just a moment before and the trembling he now did was of rage. "I hate you," he said so softly she didn't hear him.

He turned around and flew to the other room, behind the tapestry. My Brother followed him and I followed Him. Here it looked much more like a house. There was a fireplace, though it wasn't alighted right now, in a corner lay a straw mat and aside the wall stood a couple of pans and pots. On the straw mat sat Judas. He had grasped the knife he had probably used to make the horse and was carving wildly in the wood, meanwhile yelling "I hate you! I hate you!" all the time. Apparently his mother couldn't hear him or pretended not to. Suddenly the horse's head cracked and was broken from the neck. Judas gasped and lowered the weapon. He slowly took up the head and the body and stared at it. Then he started to tremble again and sobbed. He rolled himself into a ball, the broken horse in his arms, and sobbed.

"Time to go," my Brother whispered and squeezed in my arm.

We stood in the Peek room again. "What the bloody hell was that all about?" I asked, sitting down.

"Those people," my Brother informed me as he stood before me, "Will be Jesus' followers."

"Jesus?"

"Yes. Do you like it? I think that name tends to keep a bit longer in people's mind than Joshua."

"You made me say that!" I accused Him.

"Of course. Or did you think you could come up with an idea like that?"

"What are You planning on doing now?" I asked. "You want him to spread out a new religion, together with these followers of him."

"Yes. The problem with My Jews is that they are much too solitary. And at that way I never can get more power. No, this new religion shall control the earth finally!"

"And how are You going to make him so famous?" I asked sceptical. "You'll have to make him veerrry special if You want him to be remembered."

"Oh, I'll use some tricks," He replied confidently. "First of all: some miracles. Secondly: I'll make him a martyr."

"There are thousands of martyrs! You know that!"

"I also have a third way and never interrupt Me again, Lucifer," He added threatening. "I agree if you say there are a lot of martyrs. But I want a touching story. And that's where our little Judas, with his wooden horse comes in." I was silent and traced every line of His face. There was a certain glimmering hunger in His eyes and His perfect lips set in a rather cruel smile. What was He planning to do with the little boys I had seen? "For can you name Me anything that is more touching than being betrayed by your best friend?"

I stared at him. It was going to work; I had to give Him that. He had the trick already used on me; hadn't I been His most trusted and loyal angel, the only one He called His brother? "Well," I said finally, "I see You still have that wonderful family-feeling. It's really touching, how devote You are." I stood up. "Now, if You will excuse me," I sneered, "I think I prefer people who at least admit they're pure evil."

I didn't go down that day; I was thrown down. And not very nicely; I had bruises at every place you can think of.

۞

_Anyway, after that, I went to Earth a bit more frequently than before. I visited Joshua and told him stories, played with him and got more enchanted by his innocent charm than I could have possibly imagined. I was there when he was slammed in the face by the rabbi because he dared to ask why God had punished the Egyptians so severely; wasn't it only their farao who was in the fault? It was his first slap, but it wouldn't be his last. I was there when his daddy, like he called Joseph (my Brother he called his Father), was killed when he fell off the roof of one of his neighbours, trying to fix some damage. I was there when he became the master of the family, ten years after the first time I had seen him, and had to take care of his four brothers, mother and two sisters. And I was there when he left them._

It was close to Pesach, and as a tradition, the master of the family had to go to Jerusalem to sacrifice a lamb. Other years, they had asked the neighbour to go for them, but the man had died in the last cold winter. Joshua had gone on his way, and I accompanied him, being invisible to anyone but him. Being very silent although he normally had always something to tell me, he walked alongside me and now and then looked at the little playful lamb, which bleated and gave the hand in which Joshua held the rope little licks. Suddenly he stopped and looked at me. "I can't do it, uncle," he said calmly. "And I won't." Then he turned around and walked back to Nazareth, with me strutting behind him, feeling strangely proud.

His mother was gathering herbs when she looked up and saw him return, the lamb jumping merrily aside him. "Joshua?" she called surprised and a little suspicious. "What has happened? Why aren't you on your way?"

At her calls the other six children came out the house. James and Joseph had been working, judging their rolled up sleeves. Simon and Judas came from behind the house; they had been searching for firewood, for they both wore branches. Suzanna and Lisa still had their sewing material in their hands. Joshua joined them and looked rather shy. "I'm not going."

"You have to go!" James exclaimed. "God expects an offer."

"Then He'll have to wait a long time," Joshua answered calmly. "For this lamb shan't be killed by me." He walked to the door and fastened the end of the rope around a little pile. The lamb bleated happily and Joshua smiling caressed the little animal.

"You can't do that!" James said loudly. He, seeing he was the oldest after him, and Mary, seeing she was his mother, were the only one who could argue on the decisions Joshua made. The others shifted uncomfortably with their feet and exchanged goofy looks. "That lamb belongs to God!"

Joshua turned slowly around. "The ten commandments say: Thou shalt not kill."

Mary made the sign to ward off the devil's evil eye. Gee, like I hadn't seen her before. "Animals have no soul," she said automatically, "and you shall give your God what is His."

"I will not kill the lamb," Joshua repeated stubbornly. "It is more innocent than any of us. Besides, I paid for it. It's mine to do with what I like. And I will not kill it."

"Then I will!" James took up a rock and thanks to all his young years in which he had enjoyed trying to throw bird nests out trees, he hit the lamb exactly between the eyes. Without even a last bleat, it sank to the ground.

Joshua paled and fell on his knees next to the little animal. James seemed to be frightened himself by his own sudden action. Joseph pulled a face which reminded me much of his father; a funny, pitying but uncomfortable look. The others didn't move either; except to look even more uncomfortable. Mary's face was set hard as she watched her oldest son, who carefully stroked the lamb's head. I squatted beside him. "I need to go," he muttered. I saw everyone, even James, look dismayed.

I nodded, though nobody but him could see it, and he couldn't seeing he stared at the dead body. "Go take your stuff. I'll take care nobody touches the little goat." He disappeared in the house and thank my Brother nobody tried to come near the animal.

When he came back, he only wore a small bag, in which, I quickly knew, he had packed not more than a piece of bread, some old clothes of his father and a couple a coins. He turned to James. "I have paid two silver coins and some copper coins for the lamb; seeing you have killed it and so made the lamb yours, I have taken some of the money you had in return." He stepped to his mother. "I only took a piece of bread and one pair of trousers and shirt of daddy. I trust you can do without it." He then kissed his sisters goodbye and shook hands with Joseph, Simon and Judas. "Goodbye."

Joseph had tears in his eyes. He was really a copy of Joseph; a friendly, caring but not acting man. "Please don't go, Joshua, please."

Joshua smiled and turned around. "It's time. I'm sorry."

James's face was set grim. "Do you care more for an animal than for your family?" he shouted.

Joshua stopped. "For the moment," he said softly, "yes, I do."

"Joshua!" Mary's lower lip trembled.

"My name is Jesus," was the answer.

Mary turned around and fled into the house, tears running down her cheeks.

_After some hours of walking, Joshua asked me to leave; he wanted to think. I knew him rather well and from that moment I only followed his life from a distance. I haven't seen him after that until the morning of the crucifixion._

_A person I visited also often was Judas of Iscariot, the boy with the wooden horse. He couldn't see me, but I managed to help him anyway by planting ideas in his mind. When he had to make fire for the first time in his life because it was freezing cold in the room he slept in, I told him how to hold the stones in order to let sparks appear. When he burned his hands when he tried to make soup for the first time in his life because his mother had forgotten to make him some, I guided him to some plants which helped him. I taught him how to use every muscle in order to become stronger so he could fight the bullies of the village. _

_I didn't tell him though how he could control every movement of his body so he looked frightfully self assured, or how to be scornful or sarcastic, or how to let a mocking, slow smile appear on his lips so he at the same time frightened and challenged anybody. That he figured out himself. _

_I couldn't help it either when he started to feed his hate for his mother with every day that passed. I couldn't help it when he became lonely, or when he became bitter, or cynical. _

_Then, finally, came the day on which he left._

He had packed all his stuff, including the two pieces of the wooden horse he still had after those seven years, and appeared from behind the tapestry. For once, his mother didn't have a customer. She sat behind the table, left from the fire. "Mother."

She looked up. "Judas, go back to the other room."

"You would sleep with everyone, wouldn't you, mother?" he leant forward. The light of the flames played over his black eyes.

She shifted uncomfortably under his hard gaze. He had never disobeyed her before, or looked so frightening at her. "If- if they pay, I would," she replied, trying to sound uninterested. "Didn't I tell you to go to the other room?"

"I believe you ask normally five silver coins, don't you?" She nodded. His hand disappeared for a moment and then reached five silver coins to her.

She stared at the money and then looked in his dark eyes again. A small smile appeared slowly around the corners of his mouth as she hesitated. Suddenly she slapped her hand against him, so the money flew through the room. "Glad you have a spark of family-feeling left, mother," he mocked and headed for the door. "You may keep the money. I don't want it."

"Animal!" she spat at his back.

He turned abruptly around. "Did you know, mother, that a lot of animals are more human than most people?" He gave her a last sly, better grin and left.

۞

One evening, I was walking through Jerusalem at the same moment Jesus and his apostles were also in town. I had just collected a soul, and I was in a good mood, when I saw Annas, a high priest pass by. Intrigued, I followed him. That he was walking in the evening through Jerusalem, all right, but that he was hiding his face in his cape or whispering to his servants when they were too loud, was a bit suspicious.

They walked to Caiaphas' house and were let in by an –also- very silent servant. They went through the expensively decorated corridors and entered a big room in which, in easy arm chairs, some other priests and the master of the house were waiting.

"Will he come?" was Caiaphas' greeting.

"I'm sure of it," Annas replied confidently.

"When?"

"As soon as the others are all asleep."

"Hm." They were all silent again as Annas sat down. A servant brought some drinks no one touched. I was getting thirsty, but a glass which magically flies through the air would give me away and them a heart attack, so I just waited for what would happen.

After half an hour, when I was starting to doze off, there was a knock on the door. The servant's head peeked in. "He's here, master," he addressed Caiaphas.

"Let him in," he ordered.

The door opened and in – stepped Judas of Iscariot. My eyes popped out of their sockets. What-

"_So, when do You want that Judas to betray Joshua?"_

"_I'm thinking after a year or three. Then Joshua is famous enough. Maybe during Pesach. What do you think?"_

"_I'm thinking that You're the boss."_

My Brother damned.

Judas wore a black cloak and stared at the ground, his hands wringing together. "Judas!" Annas quickly stood up. "Come and sit down, my friend!" Gee, the man was an actor! The friendliness in his voice sounded almost like he meant it.

"I-" Judas looked up. "Annas… I don't know…" He let Annas guide him to a chair.

"You look a bit disturbed, Judas," Annas said gently. "Sit, will you, and calm down a bit."

Caiaphas opened his mouth. "Would you like something to drink?" He wasn't that good; the sneer was still clearly audible in his voice, but Judas was too distracted to notice it.

"I- yes- I-" he passed a hand over his eyes.

One of the priests reached for the tea, but Caiaphas shook his head unnoticeably. Judas got some wine with very little water pushed in his hand. He emptied his glass in one gulp; the priest quickly added some wine again.

"You had something you would like to tell me, I believe, hadn't you, Judas?" Annas asked after two more glasses.

"Yes… I…" he took a deep breath, "I- I believe you- you want t-to…" The rest of his words were unclear uttered. The only thing I could hear was "Jesus".

"Ah. Yes, Jesus." Annas stood slowly up and shook his head like he deeply regretted something. "You're his friend, aren't you, Judas?"

"Y-Yes. At least…" he muttered. "I think so."

"Of course you are," Annas replied gently. "And as his friend, it's you duty to worry about him. And that is why you are here, isn't it?" I just had to admire the man. He could act on Broadway!

Judas nodded. "I- I- he- I'm worried. He's- he's in danger. I- he knows it too, he- he even tried to- I don't know what to do…" He finished his glass. "I- did you see what they did when he entered Jerusalem? How's- how's Herod going to react on that? Or- or the priests?" Apparently he had forgotten to whom he was talking. The glass was refilled. "They- they'll want to kill him! I- and then those people who- those disciples- I mean, when he protects- those- those beggars, alright, and that murderer he forgave, but then-" his hand clasped around the glass, "that- that- whore!"

"Mary Magdalene, isn't it?" Caiaphas questioned softly, while Judas emptied the glass.

He nodded. "I- I just don't know what- what to do anymore. I –I don't know h-how to protect him anymore," he told the glass.

"We can help you, Judas," Annas told him. "We can protect Jesus in your place. But you have to tell us where he'll be. A place where none of those mobs can follow him."

"I-" I could sense the battle inside Judas. His anger and bitterness were battling with his common sense. _I don't want to hurt Jesus. But these people won't hurt him! They've told me so. But can you trust them? Trust no one. You never have. That's not true. I trust Jesus. I have to look out for him. But what will happen when they have him? He chose her. Not me. Maybe I want him to get hurt. Maybe I do. He has hurt me, after all. But- no! I can't. I need to help him. Oh God- I don't want to think about it anymore. It hurts to think about it. I'll tell them. I'll tell them. I don't want to think about it anymore. I'll just tell them._ "O-On Thursday night we'll go t-to the Garden of Gethsemane. Only h-him and the apostles."

"What does he look like, Judas?" Caiaphas chided. "We don't know what he looks like."

Judas frowned. "He- To be honest, it- he isn't so- so striking good-looking or something. He- it's more- something in h-his manner… and his eyes… You could easily replace him by John or anyone else."

"Maybe you could show him to us, Judas?" Annas informed. "Shake his hand or something. What do you think?"

"I'll-" Judas looked up, an eager look in his eyes. "I'll kiss him. The one I kiss, is Jesus."

"We would like to reward you, Judas," Caiaphas remarked and made a sign to another priest, who took from somewhere out his robes a thick bag. "In this are thirty silver coins."

Judas looked for a moment at the bag and then, completely uninterested, shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't need nor want money."

"Yes, we know that," Annas said quickly. "But, do you know what you can do with this? You could…" He eagerly studied Judas face. "For example… Buy a house and, if you work, take care of… three women." His tone changed. "Don't you have two sisters, Judas? And your mother is also still alive." Judas became pale. "It's a pity, their circumstances, don't you think so?"

Judas stared at the bag with money and then slowly reached out for it. Trembling he put it away. Annas stood up.

"Okay," he smiled. "Now, why don't you return to your friends, Judas? Imagine one wakes up and doesn't find you?"

Judas nodded and stood up. By the door, he hesitated and turned again. "He-he won't be hurt, right?" he almost begged.

"Of course not," Annas soothed. Judas nodded quickly and stepped outside, before he could change his mind.

Annas grinned widely, his mask completely falling off. "We got him."

۞

Reviews are very nice. You could leave one, or two, or ten...


	10. Judas Labbaeus Thaddaeus

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Bible, but my luck is going to change! It stood so in my horoscope! C'mon moon, make me reigner of the universe!

**Author's note:** Okay, I knew this took long... Don't throw those eggs yet... I was very busy and had tooooooo much homework, and when I had finally finshed that, I was usually too tired to write... Don't throw those eggs... (wipes smashed tomato off her face) well, you did listen to me, I suppose.  
Unfortunately, that isn't going to change, so updates will go very slow. But I will not, under any circumstance, abandon a story so many people swear about!  
Thanks to ForsakenRaven, Angel of Music - Lone Wolf and my dear, dear Jinace for their latest reviews!

۞

_Okay, it's finally my turn. I've been waiting some time, but now I can at last -_

"_You didn't write when it happened!"_

"_Like Hell I didn't. It takes a real idiot not to know when it did. I'm not looking at anyone."_

"_It doesn't matter if they can easily know it or not. It's about the principle!"_

"_Oh, go soak your head, Matthew."_

"_Hey, can you be a bit quieter?" I shout. "I'm trying to write here!" _

_Satan and Matthew don't even listen to me._

_We're in the Apostle Room. Most people aren't here, though. Peter has his duties as gate-waiter, Simon is training the Heaven-security, James the Younger is visiting family, Jesus and Mary are I-don't-know-where and Thomas has gone to see his sister's family._

_The only people in the night blue canopies are Bartholomew and James, who were talking softly, but now irritated look up; Phillip, who's sitting with his hands in his hair; John, who is playing chess with Phillip; Matthias, who is following the argument with good interest; and Matthew and Satan, of course, though they are not sitting, they're standing in the middle of the room. _

_Matthew pulls his deeply-insulted look. "I am not going to do anything of the sort!"_

"_Oh, just stop it Matthew; everyone knows you're just angry about how I portrayed you as a kid." Satan seems rather bored and indifferent._

_The answer is indignantly sputtered. "I am not!"_

_To be honest, most people are sure he is. It's rather striking when one, when one read one's name in a certain story, looks up, becomes totally red and mutters dark words under one's breath whole the time. _

"_Please, just face it. You were and are a total nerd. No problem."_

"_I am not!"_

"_C'mon, nobody minds! You're the only one who does!"_

_I grudgingly put my hand under my chin. This is going to take a while._

"_What's going on?" Peter and Simon stand in the door; Peter raises one eyebrow and Simon observes the situation and rolls with his eyes._

"_Thank God," Bartholomew grumbles. "Peter? Could you please tell those two to shut up? That would be a big help."_

"_Why don't you ask me that?" Simon puts in, looking quasi-hurt._

"_Because you would encourage them."_

"_Boy, does he know you well."_

"_Shut the Hell up, Thaddaeus," is the polite answer. Simon likes me so much, I know it._

"_What are you fighting over?" Peter inquires, eying first Satan and then Matthew._

"_I came to return that," Satan replies sourly, pointing at the little, in red leather bound book in my hands. "And if you ever do that to me again, Peter, I'll make you regret it."_

_Peter smiles. I think he's the only one (except Jesus) who can smile serenely at a threat of Satan himself. "You wrote it then, I presume."_

"_Of course. I know I'm the only when who is available to write about the betrayal, Peter but-"_

"_It's horrible, Peter," Matthew whining interrupts. "He didn't write when it happened."_

_He receives a deadly glare. "I'm off. And tell me some other time where you learned how to pickpocket like that, Peter. I didn't think anyone could fool me, but now I have to bow to you."_

"_I promise."_

"_Is anyone even listening to me?" Matthew complains._

"_Oh, go wank yourself in a towel, Matthew." With that, the head of Hell walks out of the door._

_Anyway, I was trying to write something-_

"_It's really devastating! You know what he said to me?"_

"_Please, Matthew, you know Lucifer isn't really polite-"_

"_Not really polite! That's an understatement!"_

_Okay, ignore Matthew's complaints and whining against Jesus (poor chap) and listen to me. For I am going to tell you about something. It happened… damn, when did it happen?... Oh yeah, I think just after Matthew's chapter. Hope you enjoy it._

۞

"And, why are we not walking _around_ it?" Matthew asked, looking with clear disgust at the huge Lake of Gennesareth.

"Because that would take days, even weeks," John laughed. Have you any idea how big this is?"

"_I_ agree with Matthew," Simon muttered, looking slightly pale as he stared at the gently rippling waves.

"For the first and only time in your life," James the Younger grinned.

We were walking along the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, or the Sea of Galilee, or the Lake of Gennesareth or whatever you want to call it (I personally favour the Lake of Gennesareth; it has a certain ring to it) and we were heading for the closest village, to see if anyone could sail us over.

Judas was gazing in the blue-coloured depths of the water, the head ruminatively bowed. "Say, Barty," he suddenly said. "What would you do if I pushed you in the sea?"

For a moment Bartholomew looked surprised, then he remembered it was Judas who had asked the question (of who you could expect everything, including pushing people in seas without a good reason) and glared. "Take the worst you can imagine and then something ten times worse."

"Would you do that?" Judas had his eyebrows raised interestedly.

"No, I would do something even worse."

"I see." Judas looked another time at the lake and gave a disappointed sigh. Bartholomew leered for a moment longer at him, and, when he was sure he was safe, resumed his conversation with Thomas.

Jesus smiled and shook his head. "Why do you always want to do something like that, Judas?"

Judas grinned nastily. "My inbred evil character?"

"At least you admit it," Andrew muttered. Jesus, who hadn't heard him, smiled again but told Judas he didn't believe in inbred evil characters, and that he surely didn't believe that Judas was evil.

"Do you believe babies are completely innocent when they're born?" James, son of Zebedee, asked curiously before Judas could reply. "You don't believe in original sin?"

"Look at one baby," Jesus said thoughtfully, "and answer me that question then."

"Yes," Peter agreed. "I understand what you mean. Somebody who looks without fear into the world, loves and laughs with everything he sees, can hardly be pure evil."

"Yeah," Judas fell in. "Babies just learn quickly."

Simon roared with laughter and I raised my eyebrows at Judas. "You know, every time I talk with you, I get the feeling either I or the whole humanity is being insulted."

His response was a dark smirk. "Gee, Thaddy, how would you get by _that_?"

I dropped the subject.

Suddenly, a man jumped out of nothing (or out of the bushes, I don't know). He looked horrible. His mouth was twitched and drool slid down his chin. He wore a thick beard whereof the natural colour was unrecognizable, so dirty it was. His thick hair was tangled and he reeked like a combination of human piss and sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and besides a few rags, he was naked. When he saw us, he screamed with a deafening, high-pitched sound. I have to admit, he scared the crap out of me.

"Bloody Hell," Thomas said weakly next to me. Even Peter seemed quite startled.

The man saw Jesus and again made the high-pitched sound. "Go away, you Son of God! What do you want of me?" he blabbered.

Jesus looked serenely, even friendly at him. _I_ thought I was going to wet my trousers. "Who are you?"

"Legio, that's our name, isn't it?" he giggled. "Yes, for we are with many, aren't we?"

"Why don't you leave that man alone?"

The man fell on the ground and squirmed in all directions. "No!" he moaned. "Don't make us go away! We're happy here, aren't we? We want to be left alone, don't we? What have we done?"

"I want you to leave that man alone." Jesus sounded a bit more severe.

"Do we really have to leave?" the man whispered to himself. "Do we really have to go back to stinky Hell? Are we really never going to see beautiful Earth again?" He started to sob. Mucus mingled with his tears. "Don't make us go back to Hell!" he cried. "Please let us stay on beautiful Earth! Son of God is good, isn't he? He won't make us go back, will he?" He sat on his knees now and shuffled towards Jesus. "Nice Son of God will spare Legio," he whispered, putting out his foul hands to Jesus' white robe.

Judas' eyes flared and he made a movement like he wanted to push the miserable, disgusting but strangely piteous creature aside, but Jesus stopped him with a hand gesture. "Will you leave the people alone?"

The man wrung himself in every possible way at Jesus' feet. "The son of God will spare Legio! He has to! We don't want to go back to Hell, do w-"

"Will you leave the people alone?" Jesus repeated, a hint of steel in his voice.

Legio bucked and looked up, an eager look in his eyes. "We will leave the people alone," he whispered. "We will leave the humans, won't we? What are they to us? As long as we can be at Earth. We will do what the nice Son of God asks us, won't we?"

"Then you can leave."

Again there was the high-pitched sound, but now it receded, until we couldn't hear it anymore. The man's eyes lightened up one last time and then he fell with a sigh on the ground.

Peter and I walked over and helped him up. We had all been at so many cures of Jesus, we knew there wasn't any danger anymore.

"Are you alright?" Judas asked Jesus, who was swaying on his feet a bit, softly. Jesus smiled in answer.

The man was unconscious, but Jesus touched his brow once and he started to wake up. He blinked and looked around. "Where am I?" a feeble voice murmured. "Where are they?" His gaze met Jesus'. He fell on his knees and kissed his robe. "You have cured me," he muttered. "Thank you, whoever you are; Elias or the Messiah, you are certainly sent by God."

Jesus smiled and helped him up. "Don't kneel for me, but walk with us. Show your cure to friends and family." He motioned to us. "These are my apostles and friends and I am Jesus of Nazareth."

We went on and the man started to talk; his name was Judah, his wife called Sheila, he had five children, two boys and three girls, he had been chained to the wall when the demons had possessed him… we got to know his total life. Not very interesting.

But please, don't think we weren't surprised about Jesus' act. On the contrary, we all looked admiring at him and talked about it in awe. Whatever he did, we were enthusiastic about it; all he did spoke of a power we couldn't understand. But he was always, especially when he had done a miracle, so sad it seemed wrong to congratulate him about it. So we all walked behind him and Judah and talked about it amongst each other.

۞

Judah's family was thrilled to see him cured, although it took him some time to convince them he was; they almost locked him up again. Only when he started to yell that if they didn't let him go quickly, they'd all go to bed without dinner, they all screamed and embraced him.

They invited us to stay that night, and we gratefully accepted. Next morning someone would sail us over.

We all sat on the shore. Jesus was sitting with his knees pulled up under his chin and eyes pensively staring at the ground. The others and I were sitting silently aside each other, except for Bartholomew, Andrew and Judas, who were looking over the lake. The sun was setting down and enlightened the whole Lake of Gennesareth so it seemed to be on fire. Above us the shades of colour came together in a soft blue, green, purple, red, orange and bright yellow.

Around eight o'clock p.m., three frightened shepherds arrived. We were not far from the village, and could hear what they shouted very clearly. Apparently their entire herd of pigs had, in a fit of insanity, thrown themselves from a cliff.

We all gazed in the direction of the village. "Gee," Andrew said finally, "how do you think that happened?"

Nobody answered. Nobody knew. That one, or even two, pigs were insane, yes, but that they'd all follow each other, like lemmings throwing themselves in the deep, black abyss that awaited them? I looked at Jesus and saw he was very pale.

Suddenly we all heard a cry and a splash. We all whirled around and stared at the water surface. "Judas!" Jesus said admonishing, though a tiny smile flickered over his face.

"He piqued my curiosity," the villain admitted, throwing a stick down. "I mean, I couldn't imagine much worse than an eternity having to listen to Matthew-"

"Hey!" Matthew protested.

Bartholomew sputtered and crawled to the side. "You tripped me with that stick!"

"How very observing you are, Barty."

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"That's not very original," Judas remarked disappointed to Simon, who was holding his abdomen and shaking with laughter. "I would've thought it a bit more macabre."

Bartholomew had now reached the shore and James the Younger and I helped him up. We had both difficulty hiding our grin. "Judas?"

Judas turned around. "Yes, Jesus?"

"Don't fight."

"I am allowed to dodge away, I hope?"

"Of course. But don't hurt him."

"As you wish." The dark man gave his friend a sly smirk.

Bartholomew had tried to profit from the situation as Judas stood with his back to him and he took a jump. Just at that moment Judas turned around and, seeing Bartholomew flying at him, thought it wise to duck. Bartholomew landed with his face in the sand, a couple of inches for the feet of Judah and his oldest son, who were walking to us.

They both looked equally surprised as Bartholomew got up his feet again, first cursing loudly until Jesus told him strictly he shouldn't talk like that, afterwards muttering insults to Judas under his breath. He cleaned his face (which was covered with sand) and spit out the small pellets. He gnashed his teeth, either that, or he had half the shore between his molars.

"Did you hear what happened, my lord?" Judah required, looking inquisitively at Jesus as soon as he had overcome his astonishment.

"I'm not a lord," Jesus said automatically.

"Yeah, we heard," Peter replied in his place. "Did something alike ever happen before?"

"Nope," Judah's oldest son shook his head. "It's really very strange. Some people believe it is because you are here, you know, becau-"

"Of course I told them that's complete rubbish," Judah interrupted. "Never ever the man who saved me, I told them, could kill a whole herd. A man, I said-" And we were off again. After a while I noticed that my thoughts were everywhere except by the drowsy, monotone voice of the man who had come to join us. But I wasn't the only one. Phillip's eyes had become very glassy as he stared at Judah's beard. Jesus stared in the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "God, and I thought _Matthew_ was boring," I heard Judas whisper. The answer was a muffled laughter, which was very clearly Simon's. Even Judah's eldest son didn't pretend listening anymore, but was talking amiably to John.

۞

"Thaddaeus!" A hand slammed on my shoulder.

"Hm?" I looked up.

"Welcome back," Simon grinned. "You've been sleeping with your eyes open, it seems. Judah and his son have left like an hour ago. They came to bring us our supper. Which is ready now. Thought I'd better warn you; Andrew has one of his hunger attacks again."

"Then we'd indeed better hurry," I replied, brushing the sleep from my eyes.

I stood up and followed Simon to the fire. "There has to be one good reason to start a war!" Andrew exclaimed at that moment.

Phillip shook his head and Peter smiled. "I can't think of one."

"Of course there is," Simon said, as he said down. "There are many."

We were busy with our usual discussions again. Only Jesus didn't seem to participate. He gazed in thin air, not seeing to see or hear anything.

"Such as?" Thomas asked curiously.

"Religion."

"I'm gonna save your soul by slamming a sword in your brains," Judas responded. He was lying on his back with his feet to the fire, hands folded under his head. I laughed and some followed my example.

"An insult." Simon resumed stubbornly, like no one had interrupted him.

"I can't think of a proper answer to a remark, so I'm gonna slam a sword in your brains."

"That's going to happen to you once too if you keep saying everything that comes in that head of yours," Peter muttered to him friendly.

"Thanks for worrying, Peter." I could hear the warm laugh in his voice. "Go on, Simon. It's getting interesting."

At that moment, I would've given up. There's no way Simon could come up with some good idea. Still, he went on, to a certain defeat.

"Food."

"What's wrong with asking? It's more polite and less dirty. Blood on food usually doesn't taste so good."

"I don't suppose land is an option?"

"It's the least hypocrite way of being selfish. Maybe it is the most honest one."

"And what," Simon tried weakly, though he visibly didn't believe himself in it, "if someone had found a way to save people from destruction, and they didn't want to believe him? Couldn't he then convince them with violence? All for the good cause?"

"I resent that," Jesus suddenly said, looking fiercely up. "Some day, someone else will try that –an Austrian- and he'll immerse the whole world in blood and destruction. Nothing, _nothing_ is worth starting a war! Not even if you're being bullied and laughed at and suppressed, you should start reaching for the sword!" It seemed that the flames from the ashes had sprung over in his eyes.

"Sorry, Jesus," Simon said astonished. "I- sorry, really."

Everybody was carefully silent. Judas leant on his elbows so he could Jesus' profile better, who was staring in the fire again. I felt strangely awake. "Say," John suddenly said shyly, "what's an Austrian?"

۞

I sighed and stood up. There was no way I could ever fall asleep again. I had slept a bit, maybe a couple of hours; when I had crawled under my blanket, it had not been very dark; now the only light came from the stars and moon, which soft light caressed the ripples. I walked to the Lake of Gennesareth and gazed over it. A small frown appeared on my brow. There was something wrong.

When I had stood up, I had only thrown a swift look on my fellow-travellers. Now I realised there had been something wrong about that picture. I turned slowly around.

Jesus had disappeared.

I waited for my feeling hours, to see if he would return. Then I shuffled between Peter and Simon to the end of the sleeping forms. I knelt down and poked with a finger against Judas' shoulder. "Judas," I whispered. He murmured something in his sleep and turned his back to me. I grasped his shoulder and shook it lightly. "Judas. Wake up."

He moaned and opened his eyes. "Thaddy," he grumbled as greeting, staring at my hand on his shoulder as if it was some dead, deformed insect. I quickly removed it and he lazily placed his hands behind his head. "You better have a damn good reason to wake me up, bud," he yawned with a sly grin.

"Jesus is gone."

"WHAT?" He immediately was on his feet. Luckily the others didn't wake up. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know. He's gone for quite a while, I guess," I said, alarmed by his agitated behaviour. "I've been up for some time and he hasn't been here."

Judas swore. "We gotta find him."

"Where could he be?" I asked. "He doesn't usually do that."

"Let's see," Judas muttered, more to himself than to me. "What upset him today?" he started pacing up and down. I watched him, getting more anxious by the minute. He stopped and snapped his fingers. "Those pigs. Where's that ravine?"

"I don't know. I think somewhere up there." I pointed at the way the shepherds had come from this afternoon.

"Let's go then." Judas started.

"Shouldn't we wake someone?"

Judas turned around and hesitated. "No. Maybe there's nothing wrong. C'mon."

I followed him into the night.

We kept a quick, wide stride as we followed the rode. It gently climbed up a mountain. We went higher and higher and the higher we went, the quicker we walked. The idea something had happened to Jesus kept us more and more in its force. Sometimes I looked aside at Judas' profile and then I saw desperation and plain fear. When we finally spotted the abyss, our farced march became more and more a run, until we were flying at the edge.

"Jesus!" He was sitting, legs crossed, in the grass. His head was ruefully bowed, but he lifted it when I shouted his name.

We stopped at each side of him. I felt like laughing and yelling at the same time, but both feelings quickly ebbed away as I saw his look of grief. "Look," he said softly and nodded to the ravine. We walked forward and looked over the edge.

Down, very deep down, we saw blood and destruction. All the corpses of the dead pigs had fallen on a heap. Through the darkness you couldn't see them very clearly. It could as well have been dead children. I shuddered. "I didn't mean for them to die," Jesus spoke quietly.

"The demons?" Judas inquired, speaking as softly as Jesus.

"They did as they promised," Jesus' voice broke. "They didn't attack people."

"Well," I said uncomfortable. "It's better than that had been a human."

To my surprise Jesus smiled, but his lips quavered and his voice sounded so bitter it gave me chills. "Are two thousand pigs worth one human life? I don't think one of those pigs ever stole of or lied to or cursed another pig."

"They're pigs." I shifted with my feet. "You can't compare an animal to a human."

"Can't you? Didn't you think when you looked down they looked exactly like children's bodies?" I looked away. I didn't want to answer, but that wasn't necessary. "I thought so already," Jesus whispered.

"Do you hear that too?" Judas asked suddenly.

Jesus nodded. "They've been singing it all the while." His voice gave a squeal. "It goes all the way up to two thousand…"

We all were quiet and listened. The wind seemed to wave a soft, cheerful, almost perverse song to us. I listened with disgust. "One, two, three, the Son of God set us free… Three, four, five, we can't steal Human lives… Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, so we took the pigs' lives then… Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, you should hear how two thousand pigs can scream…"

Jesus sprung on his feet. "Away! Go away! All of you!"

There was a huge, desperate cry and a deafening silence. Jesus slapped his hands for his face and I supported him in sitting down. I was afraid he'd fall otherwise.

Judas still stared pensively down. After a while he opened his mouth. "You know," he muttered softly, "I never really understood why those blinds you cure want to see again."

A silver tear slipped down Jesus' check. "It's such a cruel world," he whispered.

۞

Okay, did you like it? Then... EAT CHEESE! Err, I mean, REVIEW!


	11. Simon Peter

**Disclaimer:** Okay, here's the test... If I'm God, there will appear chocolate in my hand right... NOW.

Damned!

**Author's note:** Thanks to Jinace the Great, my fantastic fan!!!!!

* * *

_Hello, I'm Peter. Simon Peter, in full. Or Pete, of course. Pick the one you favour the most. _

_Anyway, I've read this book again, to understand everything fully. And I notice that it gives people more an impression about our friendship and especially about the friendship between Judas and Jesus than really telling the events, like it was meant to. I assume that it doesn't matter. Maybe the relation between people is more important than what happens. Or maybe none of us can write._

_I got this book from Thaddaeus and after giving it to Jesus, decided in a rush to write something myself. I've been thinking for ages what exactly I should write about, and it was a long time ago I concluded I should write about how we met Judas of Iscariot. It fits well in the rest of the stories, which unconsciously all seem to be about him. I think he would laugh at us but at the same time feel flattered if he heard it._

_The story takes place after Andrew's. There were only six apostles: Andrew, our friends James and John, sons of Zebedee, our other friend Phillip, Simon the Zealot who had met us along the way and of whom we couldn't get rid anymore-_

"_Not funny, Peter!"_

"_Please, Simon, don't you know it's very impolite to read over one's shoulder?"_

_-And myself, of course. Enjoy._

۞

"Ouch!" Phillip fell on the ground.

"Phillip! What's wrong?" Jesus knelt immediately beside him and we all thronged around him, not doing any good, but at least being able to express our anxiety.

"I fell on my foot." Phillip robbed over the sore spot. "Hurts terribly."

"I think you sprained it," I commented, squirting down beside him and giving the ankle a critical look. "It's going to swell up. You'd better not walk on it for a couple of days."

"Peter, all we do is walking," James remarked cleverly.

"Nooo," Simon said quasi surprised, rolling his eyes.

"Then we'll have to stop," Jesus decided. "We'll set up a camp a bit of the road."

"Don't be silly, I sure can walk on the dumb thi-" Phillip had tried to come on his feet, but now almost fell again, if Andrew and John hadn't grasped him.

"What did you want to say, Phillip?" Simon questioned friendly.

I nodded to him. "Instead of playing the smart one, go find a spot to set up the camp, will you?"

۞

We installed Phillip on a heap made of leaves and our blankets, under the protest of Simon ("Why does _mine_ have to lie there too?") and sat down to deliberate. To be frank, we were in the middle of nowhere. The last farm lay a day walking behind us and we had no idea how far the next sign of human life was. Luckily our camp was near by a brook.

"How much food do we have left?" Jesus asked.

John rummaged in our haversacks. "Enough for one day, I think," he reported, his head in Andrew's sack.

"For as far as we know, the next village is two weeks walking," James sighed.

Jesus frowned. "We shall have to divide, I'm afraid. Some go to the farm we've been to yesterday, someone stays with Phillip and the others go to see how far the next place is."

"I'm not an invalid," Phillip protested. "I can stay here on my own."

"I think it's better if someone stays, Phillip," Jesus said friendly. "If it's alright for James, we two will go back to the farm and take some food back. We'll ask him how far the next village is and if it's necessary, we can perhaps borrow his cart. We'll only be back tomorrow evening."

"That's alright," James agreed.

"I'll stay with Phillip," John murmured. "My feet hurt."

"Then I, Andrew and Peter will go to the next village," Simon said cheerfully.

"It's Andrew, Peter and I," Andrew told him.

"No, you're not going two times," Simon said indignantly.

"I meant- oh, never mind."

No sooner said than done. Jesus asked us that if we couldn't find the next village before sunset, we would return. The food and money was divided carefully and Andrew, Simon and I set out.

After an hour or two, we reached the next place. It was a small village, but we were certain we could buy enough stuff there to feed us all for two months.

"There's no way we can catch up with James and Jesus, is there?" Simon asked, studying the modest but well constructed houses.

"I fear not," I replied.

He sighed. "A pity."

Then we started to stroll. My feet were totally sore, and after half an hour I doubted I could any longer stand on them. "I'm sorry, you guys, but I really can't walk anymore," I sighed, sitting down on a stone aside the only square the village was rich.

"Yeah, me too," Simon backed me up, falling down beside me.

"Well, okay," Andrew said, taken aback. "What if I go buy the food while you rest?"

"Please, thank you," I answered, feeling very grateful towards my sibling.

He took the money I gave him and disappeared into an alley. Simon and I meanwhile looked around and listened to the conversation of three men, who talked so loudly we could hear them from the other side of the square. Not that the square was very big.

The three had attracted my attention the moment we set foot on the square, for they were the strangest trio I had ever set my eyes on. The first man seemed to have been once of normal height, but had somehow gotten stretched out until he was almost a foot taller than I was. His body was lean and thin and he seemed to be made of bones with some skin pulled around it. There wasn't a hair on his skull, which glimmered in the setting sun. The contrast with the second person was immense, for he hardly reached my chest and was so round that if he would fall he would probably roll on and on until he hit something. Also there was so much hair on his chin you could hardly see his mouth, except when he laughed and you saw all his teeth glitter, which he did all the time. The last man stood out to those two by his, though still tall, rather normal height and handsome features. He was an actual pleasure to look at, with his dark hair which fell elegantly in his eyes (he now and then shook out of his visage) and his sparkling eyes. He was the middle of the conversation, though he didn't say much. He just leant back to the wall and observed the other two with his twinkling eyes. There was a certain mocking twist around his lips that seemed to be unable to leave its spot. Something else that drew my attention was the self-confidence he radiated and the threatening air that hung around him. It took me a while to realise that was because every move, how little it may be, was calculated and set up, carefully prepared. The other men stood at each side of him and were trying to convince him of something.

"C'mon, Iscariot, aren't you coming tomorrow?" the tall man asked the handsome one. "I could really use a strong arm." His thin voice reminded me of old books and dusty rooms.

The handsome man sighed mockingly. "Alas, my dear sir Nicodemus, I am bound by my promise to mister Cleopas, I'm afraid. Told him I would work on his agglomeration system for his fields tomorrow." The small man grinned proudly.

"Don't tell me you keep to your promises, Iscariot," the long man winked.

"Occasionally. But if you would tell me what you would pay me I would be most grateful. Maybe could force up the price he was willing to pay me then."

The long man laughed bleating and the round one, Cleopas, sighed. "I'm surrounded by traitors," he complained with a sad shake of the head. "What can an old, fat man do then?" His voice was filled with the promise of a hot fire and warm food.

"Loose weight," the tall man, Nicodemus, suggested dryly.

Cleopas shook his fist playfully at him. "You'd better keep our friend here out of the way of your daughter instead of laughing with me."

Nicodemus sighed. "I tried to make her stop going to see him, but I can't help it."

"Told her already I'm not interested," Iscariot muttered.

"I _know_. Since I told her she's to marry Nathaniel and no one else she's trying to make every man in her neighbourhood in love with her in the hope I would have to approve of the marriage. And, well, the day labourers mostly take off there shirts…"

So this Iscariot was a day labourer! A labourer that voyaged through the country in the hope of finding someone who had work for him. They were paid per day, but mostly were with so many that I never had seen two men fight over one.

"Why doesn't she want to marry him?" Iscariot asked curiously. "He's okay. Too polite and a bit shy, but okay."

"She doesn't like scribes, and he is the _chief_ scribe," the long man stated gloomily.

"Oh, don't think about it," Cleopas said pitying. He stood on the tips of his toes and patted Nicodemus' elbow. "C'mon, let's go drink something. Are you coming too, Iscariot?"

"Nah," the handsome man answered. "Maybe later."

"Okay. Until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Cleopas waddled away, followed by Nicodemus, who took one stride for every two his fellow took.

Iscariot looked for a moment at their backs and then walked to us. "Eavesdropping is very impolite, are you aware of that?" he remarked, sitting down beside us. He didn't seem to expect an answer, so we didn't give him one. "Strangers?"

"Our friend is off buying food," I explained.

"Oh, yeah. The little one." I snorted as I imagined Andrew's reaction if he would be called 'little one'.

"Why are those two so keen on having you as labourer?" Simon asked.

Iscariot spread out his arms. "Because I'm the best. If you give me three good meals a day and twelve litres water, I can easily move four ton earth. Which is four times as much as a normal man."

"You're modest," I smiled.

He shrugged. "Facts." I could hardly believe how easily he was sitting, like he knew us for years. The idea we could rob him didn't seem to pop in his head. But of course, if he hadn't been lying about the amount of work he did, it was likely he could knock us both out.

A thick sow came grunting out an alley, followed by her numerous, shrieking offspring. "Do they walk here free?" Simon asked disbelieving.

"Hm? Oh, there're the innkeeper's. His do."

"There's an inn here?" Simon's eyes shone.

Iscariot looked at him and chortled. "Could use a beer?"

"Are you staying here long?" I asked. He intrigued me, for one reason or another.

"No, think I'll leave soon. Great village, though. Very clean pigs, only very dirty people."

I chuckled. "You don't have a very high opinion of the human race, do you?" I asked. The contempt in his voice made me even more curious than before.

He shrugged. "Most people are monsters. Can't make them good."

"All people have a part of them that is monstrous," I corrected. "I try to understand them. That's hard enough."

"What're you doing here actually?"

"Buying food," Simon said helpfully.

"We're passing through," I told him, ignoring Simon. "We're followers of Jesus of Nazareth."

"Oh, _that_ guy." He didn't explain his strange remark.

"He's great," Simon interjected.

"I'm back!" Andrew called, coming out the alley and almost stumbling over the sow, who yelled indignantly. "Whoops-"

Iscariot came slowly on his feet. "Wanna beer or not?" he asked Simon and me.

"No thanks," I said at the same moment Simon jumped at his feet.

"Err… do you mind that I go?" Simon tried and gave me a look that was probably meant to be piteous. It looked more like he had to go.

"I'm not coming to drag you back if you're too drunk to stand on your feet," I threatened.

"Don't worry. Will bring him home," Iscariot winked.

"Can I come too?" Andrew, who had heard the word 'beer', asked.

"No," I answered.

"He pouted. "Why not?"

"You'll see tomorrow morning. C'mon."

Peevishly he followed me back.

۞

We explained to Phillip and John what had happened, and, because it had already become very dark, went to sleep. Half way the night though, when the moon stood in full majesty at the sky, we were awoken by noise.

Iscariot and Simon came stumbling in the camp, singing. Iscariot had a warm baritone, but Simon couldn't keep in tune. I don't know if I'm actually _allowed_ to call it singing. "We're here, mate," Iscariot reported. Though he drifted about a bit on his legs, he stood still quite straight. Simon had fallen down, though he hardly seemed to notice it.

"Johnny!" Simon jabbered, throwing an arm around the sleep-drunken man. "Let's sing!"

"You have a scent hanging around you, Simon," John said, turning his head aside and trying desperately to stay polite.

"That's not scenting, friend," Iscariot mentioned. "That's reeking."

"C'mon, Simon," I said, heaving him back on his feet. "You're drunk."

"Are we drunk?" Simon asked Iscariot, blinking dumbly.

"Hope so. Spoiled a good barrel of beer otherwise."

"So we're drunk." He threw his arm around my shoulder. "Are we going to sing now?"

John, Andrew and I somehow knew to get Simon in bed. Once asleep, he even made more noise than before. "Is that _snoring_?" John moaned. "Can't we lay him somewhere else?"

"Reckon you can hear this for a mile far, so don't think that'll help," Iscariot yawned. "Problem if I sleep here? Don't think I'll make it back to the village."

"Suit yourself," I answered.

"Thanks." He was immediately soundly asleep.

"So _why_ couldn't I go too?" Andrew whined. "They seemed to have had a lot of fun."

"Wait until the morning," I replied.

"It is morning."

"Only technically. Wait till they wake up."

Grumbling Andrew went to sleep again.

۞

"Shouldn't they wake up by now?" Phillip asked, looking at Simon and Iscariot. It was probably two hours after sunrise, but both men were still soundly asleep. I examined them. Simon lay on his back, mouth open. His arms and legs were spread out widely around the area, as a sort of huge, human star. One that snored, that is. Iscariot on the other hand, lay on his side, legs pulled up and one arm protectively over his head. The mocking twist around his lips had finally disappeared and combined with the almost frightened look on his face he seemed more like a scared little boy than the actual threatening grown man I had seen yesterday.

"May I wake them?" Andrew asked with sparkling eyes.

I grinned. "Go ahead."

He filled our largest two cups with water from the brook and threw it over them. Simon awoke with a start and a cry, Iscariot didn't even seem to be surprised. He slowly sat up and stretched.

"Put out the light," Simon moaned and hid his head under Andrew's blanket.

"That's the sun," John remarked.

"What'ver," it came huffed from under the blanket.

"Used too little water, little one," Iscariot stated to Andrew as he came on his feet. While Andrew's face turned to a strange colour of purple by the hearing of the name, Iscariot walked to the river and put his head under water. He shook then his wet hair out of his eyes. "Better."

Simon's left eye appeared from above the blanket, squinting at the bright daylight. "You didn't tell me it would hurt so terribly," he accused him.

"Nope, I didn't."

"Can't you do anything about it?" Simon turned his bloodshot eyes to me. "Peter?" he begged. "Please say you know something against it."

I shook my head and he put his head back under the covers, moaning. "Know something," Iscariot said. "Start drinking again."

"What?" The eye peeped back again. "That helps?"

"Yup."

"But… won't I have the same problem tomorrow again?"

"Sure enough. Double as bad, probably. But it helps for the moment."

Simon moaned. "Thanks, but I'll take this then."

"Okay. Gotta go. Still work to do. Okay if I check on you all tonight?" he asked.

I nodded. "We won't go anywhere." I looked at him. "How come you don't have a hangover?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Never had one in my life." He looked for a moment at the covers Simon lay under. "Can't say I envy those who have them," he sniggered. "Well, see you."

I turned to Andrew. "Well?" I asked.

He saw pretty pale around his nose as he watched the heap that was Simon. "I'll do anything you say, Peter," he replied weakly.

۞

"So, if I get it correctly," James summarized. "You met this Iscariot, he got Simon drunk and slept in the camp?"

"That's it, I think," John said thoughtful.

Jesus and James had returned over an hour ago and the sun was slowly setting. The farmer didn't have a cart, but they had had some food. Phillip could stand on his foot again and even Simon had abandoned the blanket, though he still was a little grumpy and didn't stop narrowing his eyes.

"Let's speak about something else, shall we?" Simon interrupted, glaring.

Andrew laughed and we started to talk. Somehow, I don't remember exactly how, the conversation came on the story of Jacob and Rachel. While Jesus was absorbed listening to Andrew, who was convinced Jacob should've hit Rachel and Lea's father on the head when he had found out the cheating, Iscariot arrived.

He suddenly stood between Simon and me and silently sat down. "How's it going?" he asked Simon. A grunt was all he received as reply. "Means he's still alive," Iscariot whispered to me before directing his attention to Andrew.

"I don't believe so, Andrew," Jesus was saying. "I don't think Jacob had the right to repudiate Lea, just because he was deceived."

"Sure not," Iscariot said loudly. Jesus' eyes immediately bored in his. "He did sleep with her. He probably made her pregnant too. I guess he was drunk. Otherwise he had to be very stupid not even to notice he's lying in bed with the wrong woman." He was silent for a moment. I couldn't recall him in the time I knew him ever making such complete sentences. "And it mustn't have been nice for Lea," he added softly. "Knowing your husband doesn't love you, didn't want you from the beginning. I think it must've left some scar."

He and Jesus looked at each other for a couple of moments. Suddenly a laugh broke through on Jesus' face. "What's your name?"

"Iscariot," Iscariot muttered, slightly taken aback by the sudden question. "Judas of Iscariot."

Jesus nodded. "Judas of Iscariot," he quietly repeated. The name seemed to hang in the air.

* * *

One word:... REVIEW!!!!!!!! 


	12. James the Younger

**Disclaimer: **One guess...

**Author's note:** Big thanks to my reviewers, Satan's Fangirl, Jinace and doctor.seuss. And a thousand apologies for the delay... I've had exams! Pity me! AND I've been sick (no kidding!). Huge head ache, VERY bad cold and insomnia all for the price of one! Bah! But thanks to the sickness (puts out her fist to the hard giggling sickness) iv'e missed an exam, so I have to catch up. Fysics, of all things! So a thousand apologies...

I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize, I apologize,...

* * *

_Hello,_

_My name is James. James the Younger. I'm also called James the Less, but I don't really like that name, I mean it's sounds like James, son of Zebedee, is worth more than me! I-_

"_There's nothing wrong with being inferior, James. You should really learn to accept it." Thaddaeus, who is my cousin, grins broadly over my shoulder._

"_Why don't you get that big grin and nasty, stinky breath out of my way, Thaddaeus?" He chuckles at me and walks to the couch to sit next to Bartholomew._

_I realise that we might have not made a very good impression in the rest of the stories; I mean, all we ever seem to do is tease each other (and not always as polite, I admit it). But that's the way we are. It's the way we show we actually like each other. Without any hugs or kisses (imagine! Bèèèrgh), of course. And I don't think you will find anywhere as good friends as we are. Though we all have our favourite friends and groups, we will all be ready to help each other, like pushing Simon under water when he's been rude or just smells. I, for example, talk mostly with John, Matthias and Andrew and my dear, dear cousin (note the sarcasm) Thaddaeus, but I would always help Matthew tripping Thomas. We're just a group._

_Oh yeah, what everybody forgot to do in the other chapters, probably because we've gotten so used to his silent, observing company, or maybe because we're ashamed of having him in the group (just kidding!), is introducing Matthias._

_Matthias used to be just one of hundreds of followers Jesus had, but gradually became a part of the seventy or something people that always followed him (don't they call that stalking? (again kidding!)). Well, they always showed up, no matter what town we were in, but they didn't follow us along the way. They just made sure they were there at the same moment as Jesus. We got so used to have him around in the cities that we immediately noticed if he wasn't there. He sometimes helped us to get food (for which we were extremely thankful if Andrew had one of his hunger attacks again), helped us to stop the people if they got a bit too enthusiastic and tried to rip Jesus to pieces in adoration and he seemed to be always around. Though he wasn't one of the apostles, he did get a nickname, which everyone had to suffer one except for some friends of a certain bastard. He was called Mattie or Mats._

_Oh, and about James, son of Zebedee, Lucifer forgot to mention his nickname, which I shall now do, just to make sure that you all know only Simon, Jesus (who just got lucky to get liked by the treacherous bastard from above) and John, whose name is simply too short to make any shorter, didn't have one. James, son of Zebedee, was Jams._

_This is the story of… well, it doesn't have a name, actually. Call it James's Jabbering or something like James Jactation, or another alliteration. If you want to keep it simply, just call it JACKAS, or James's Astounding Contribute Kindly Accompanied by Serenity. Whatever that may mean. But it is set the second year we were all together, so somewhere between Simon and Thaddaeus's stories._

۞

"You know, Andrew, I think I know why you exist," Judas said pensively-

۞

"_Damned! Cursed! Fuckin' stupid pen! Will ye-!"_

"_Please, James, a bit softer?" Simon remarks lazily from one of the canopies._

"_What's wrong?" Peter came to read over my shoulder._

"_Look!"_

"_I look. What do I have to see?"_

"_The stupid darn idiotic-"_

"_Be careful. Remember what happened to Simon when he insulted the pen. Leave the adjectives until you've left the room."_

_I try to calm down. "He wrote 'Judas' instead of 'treacherous bastard', like I wanted him to. He did write that before. Why doesn't he do that now?"_

"_Oh, there's all the fuss about! Well, at the moment of the event, you didn't think of Judas as a err… 'Treacherous bastard', and the pen writes down like you meant it at that specific time."_

"_It can't?! What kind of pen is that?!"_

"_Just write on, James," Simon's voice sounds through the room. "If I had to cope with it, you'll have to cope with it."_

"_Humph." I pout and place my hand under my chin. "I thought you were smart," I tell the pen._

_James's Astoundingly Coped with and Kindly Accompanied by Stupid Pens Book…_

۞

"You know, Andy, I think I know why you exist," Judas said pensively, while we all stared at the food Andrew _kept_ shoving in his mouth. Bartholomew and Thomas had gone away, claiming they were going to gag if they had to watch him any longer. My eyes were popping out me sockets. Even this amount of food was extraordinary for Andrew, and it kept growing. It was quite fascinating, really.

"Oh, yeah, why's that?" Andrew muttered between two bites. It wasn't like he ate quickly or something, no, he just ate along, if you can say that, completely at ease, like we would devour any meal –but then one ten times as large as a usual one.

"It may be your sole purpose in life to serve as a warning to others." Simon started laughing and Jesus smiled. At Andrew's scowl, Judas added: "Well, that's a good thing, Andy! One day, you'll blow up, and then everybody will be warned: 'Don't eat too much, or you'll end up like Andrew the Round Little One'. You will be an example to frighten children with if they want sweets! You'll be infamous all over the world!" Simon now actually roared with laughter and if it hadn't been for Andrew, I would've laughed along with the others. Well, at least, I _intended_ not to, but then he looked deeply insulted. I couldn't help myself anymore and collapsed.

"I am _not_ going to blow up!" he seethed.

"Well, one never knows, of course," Judas murmured serenely, putting his arms behind his head.

"Oh, shut up, Judas!"

"At your service, my Lord and Master!" Judas saluted Andrew. He ate along, his face set like a thundercloud.

After some time Matthew complained he was bored. "Well, what do you like to do, Matthew?" Peter asked rather uninterested.

"Puzzling. Math."

At the same time that Simon acted like he had to vomit, Andrew started to make strangled noises. I looked aside and saw he was turning purple. He chocked and gasped for breath, fortunately. "_Math_?"

"Or puzzling," Matthew repeated dignified. I tapped with a finger against my forehead and saw Bartholomew nod in consent.

"Someone give the maniac something to do," Thomas murmured, eyes closed. he was leaning back against a tree. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Gotcha, Tommy. Okay, try to figure this out." Judas stood up, took a branch and started to write in the sand. I leaned forward interestedly. He wrote two sentences:

_The statement underneath is true._

_The statement above is false._

Matthew's eyes almost popped out his sockets. "So, which one is true, Matt?" Judas grinned while he sat down again.

"How long do you think Jerusalem is still away?" John asked no one in special.

"We should get there tomorrow," Peter replied.

"And the next village?" I wondered.

"Half an hour," Judas informed me. "Do you want to go and see it?"

"Why not," I considered. Judas probably wanted to come too, judging the sudden relief in his eyes as I answered.

"Okay. Let's go." He stood up and stretched. "Anyone coming along?"

I looked around. Simon stared at the sky and tried to whistle in tune. Notice the 'tried'. Jesus softly apologized but he was a bit tired, Thaddaeus muttered something like "no way, gosh hay", no matter what the last meant, Peter shook his head and Andrew gave Judas such a foul look I didn't need to hear his answer, seeing it wouldn't be too polite. Matthew still sat before the lines Judas had written down and was muttering to himself. He probably hadn't heard us talking as he made hand gestures like he was trying to convince somebody of something. The others looked in every direction except in Judas's and mine. Only Phillip stood up and, after a small hesitation and a goofy look at Judas, Mary too.

"Okay, let's set off," I announced happily and brushed past Judas. We had been sitting still for quite a time, and I just can't sit still. I have to move. I felt like running until my chest hurt, until I would take such large strides I would jump up the clouds. Instead I waited until the other three had caught up with me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought it would have been better if Judas or Mary had stayed behind. Since the confrontation between Judas and Jesus about his mother, that unfortunately the entire camp had been able to hear, Judas had ignored the girl. He answered curtly if she asked him anything, took everything she tried to hand him, but never spoke to her, even looked at her on his own accord. Mary wanted him to like her, seeing he was the only apostle that didn't like her so far and because he was Jesus' best friend, but until now she had only received a blunt silence.

So now they each walked at the other side of Phillip, who was trying to keep a conversation. I came to walk next to Mary and Phillip stopped relieved with his attempts to talk with the two silent figures beside him. He seemed to figure that if I didn't talk, he didn't need to either, so we settled for a comforting silence.

_Maybe Judas didn't want to talk to Mary because he didn't know what to say,_ I thought, immediately dismissing the notion. Judas at a loss of words was an idiot idea. _But still,_ a little voice in my head with an annoying highly Matthew rate continued, _what if he really doesn't? He knows everybody, including Mary, has heard his shouting at Jesus. What if he doesn't know how to offer his apologies? _I silenced the little voice. Judas wanting to offer his apologies was even a more stupid notion.

We reached the village, which existed out of series of small houses. We started to wander around, smiling friendly to everyone who gave us goofy looks. They clearly weren't too used to strangers around here.

Judas seemed to have had the same thoughts as I had, for he whispered: "I bet that the rabbi here is the same person as the village idiot." I chortled, ignoring the blasphemous side of the remark.

"You'd think they wouldn't have to stare so much at us," Mary murmured, smiling awkwardly at an old, sour-looking lady that sat in her chair before the door of her house. Mary lifted her hand and played absent-mindedly with the lock hair that had fallen on her shoulder. She always did that when she was nervous.

"Especially because there is a stranger here already," Phillip mentioned, making a small hand gesture to a cart that had probably just left the village. It was on its way to disappear at the other side of a hill close to the last house. The cart was old but neatly taken care of, made of thick wooden planks. Next to the horse that pulled the colossus, a large, squarely-built and a smaller fellow walked.

I heard a soft hiss and the next moment Judas was halfway the hill. "Where's he going?" I asked startled. I looked at the others and at the same time we all started running after him.

When we finally got over the hill, I couldn't believe my eyes. The smaller man was holding Judas' arms on his back, grinning a smile that had some bloody holes at the places where some of his teeth where supposed to be. The squarely-built fellow, whose nose was covered with blood and who was the new owner of a black eye, was planting his fists in Judas' stomach. Judas was groaning in pain, trying to squirm his arms from the shorter man's grip.

I didn't really remember what I thought at that moment. Actually, I don't remember thinking at all. I do remember the shout that rose in my throat, and the almost satisfying noise my fist made when it came in contact with the smaller man's cheek. The two were completely surprised by the sudden appearance of Phillip and me. Phillip shook the other man firmly and I pushed mine hard against the ground. I actually wanted to hit him again, but my opponent lifted his hands palms up and cried: "Enough! Enough!"

When I stopped in the middle of my movement, he crawled on his feet and helped his companion up. I could hear them swear under their breaths as they spurred the horse, now and then looking frightened back at us. When they had disappeared, I could hardly believe they had been there, if it wasn't for the slight pain I felt in my hand, and for Judas, who was being helped up by Phillip. Mary came closer. "What was _that_ all about?"

Judas spit out some blood. "Nothing."

"Judas-" Phillip started frowning.

"Let's go back," Judas interrupted and turned his back to us.

Nobody spoke a word whole the way. We just stared at Judas' slightly bent back that moved a step or three before us.

۞

"What happened?" Jesus softly inquired, looking at us when we shuffled back to the places we had sat before we left. "You've been fighting," he observed, looking at Judas, who took place beside Simon.

"And what if I have?" was the short retort. I fell down next to Andrew and John. Judas didn't look at Jesus, just checked for bruises on his arms.

I could remember the last time some of us had fought –Andrew and Judas, to be exact. Jesus had been deadly worried when he had noticed. But now, he seemed completely calm. He just looked how Judas muttered swearwords when he found a painful place. It scared me. He seemed so distant, even when he walked to Judas and knelt before him, he still had that eerie composure, almost indifference. His eyes pierced in Judas' features, who still looked down, like he hadn't even noticed Jesus sat before him. "Why?"

Now Judas did look up, his eyes burning. "Maybe because I like to do that. Maybe I enjoy hitting people," he said softly, his voice vicious. "Maybe I like it when they scream."

"Because you like it," Jesus repeated, eyes still hooked in Judas's.

Judas leaned forward, until his face was mere inches away from Jesus'. "You obviously didn't meet everybody yet, did you, Jesus?" he whispered fervently.

"Because you like it." The contempt in his voice was clearly audible. He hadn't listened to what his friend had said. Judas angrily lowered his eyes. Jesus stood up and looked first at Mary, then at me and at Phillip. "And you let him?"

Like the two others, I lowered my eyes in confusion. "We tried to stop him," Phillip answered weakly.

"By hitting the others." I felt my cheeks grow hot. Now I didn't dare to look up at all, afraid Jesus perhaps could see that I had even enjoyed hitting the other –if he hadn't already, at least.

I could actually feel his eyes wandering over us. "Right," he said, a small quaver noticeable in his voice. "Right."

۞

We mounted the steps that let to the Holy Temple of Jerusalem. Mary we had left at the bottom, seeing women where not allowed in the Temple. The Temple exists out of three parts: first, you come at an indoor square, where merchants praised their products: some sold the doves or even cows and bulls you could take in the other rooms to sacrifice; others sold pots or materials. You even had money-changers. There hung a jolly, sociable air. The next room, we would enter by a huge door. Behind it was the Altar of God, from which all scents immediately raise to Heaven. The third room was the most holy in the Temple and no one but the priests was to enter it.

We stood between all the buyers and sellers, and listened to their conversations. A fat woman-

۞

"_James! That's very impolite."_

"_What is?"_

"_Calling someone fat."_

"_Oh, please, Thaddaeus, I'm not going to bother about that now. Besides, it's my story."_

"_Still-"_

"_Stop it, Thaddaeus!"_

"_Alright, alright. I know manners aren't your strongest point."_

"_Oh, shut up."_

_James' Abominable Cousin Kindled by Astounding Story… hmmm... That doesn't sound too bad…_

۞

We stood between the buyers and sellers, and listened to their conversations. A fat woman was quarrelling with a potter about the price of one of his pieces. "You're ruining me!"

"I'm sure you'll be able to survive," the woman noticed dryly. "Two cupper coins, not more."

"You'll be the death of me one day Lila," the potter grumped as he took her money.

"Don't flatter me, Jeremiah," the woman laughed.

I laughed with some jokes some merchants made against their customers and felt happy. The others, especially Thomas, whose father had been a merchant, seemed to enjoy themselves as well.

Jesus turned. "Go ahead," he told us.

"Huh?" was my very intelligent remark and I saw Peter blink his eyes confused.

"Go destroy this all." He motioned to the entire marketplace.

"Why?" Andrew asked dumbly.

"That's what you like, isn't it?" His eyes burned in Judas'. "Isn't it? Even you two-" Those angry, disappointed eyes turned first to Phillip and then to me, "enjoyed hitting others. Hurting others. So go ahead." He spread out his arms. "Go destroy those people's work. The things they've been working on for hours, even days. If that's what you want, don't let me stop you." God, he sounded bitter. Like we had destroyed every hope, every expectation he had had about us. And I felt so very ashamed.

We all stood still, and he kept looking at us, questioning us with every silent second. It seemed like all the noises and voices around us had disappeared. The only thing that counted was us thirteen. "I- I think I'm going to keep Mary company," I finally said. Some muttered approving and I turned around, walking outside. The others followed.

I only dared to look back when we had reached the stairs. The only two still standing at the exact same spot were Judas and Jesus. It seemed like they had failed to notice everyone had left. I averted my gaze and walked down.

We all sat down by Mary, who tried to pry information from us, but didn't receive much more than one syllable-answers. After some time, Jesus and Judas came down. They walked next to each other, united in their silence. Maybe they had talked things out. Maybe one of the two had given up their strange staring contest and the other had forgiven him. After that, they acted like nothing happened. And I've never known what exactly had happened.

* * *

Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Trumphets, please! The mystery deepens... 

Why does Judas hit unknown men? What does he mean by saying "You obviously didn't meet everybody yet, did you, Jesus?" ? Will Matthew ever figure out what Judas riddle means?...

All in our next show! Thank you for your attention! If you have any questions or remarks, please press the button beneath this, saying 'Go'.


	13. Matthias

**Disclaimer:** not mine and never will be. Sigh... I will somehow have to do something about that... Maybe I could inherit the rights. But whom do I have to kill for that?

**Author's Note:** This is a very late update of 8 pages. Don't you dare to come nagging. Also, I wanted to mention this story is slowly coming to an end -I guess there will be some five chapters left over. Just wanted to discourage you all and hope you missed me sparkling absence! (Don't make _any_ witty remarks about that...)

I also wanted to mention, since I forgot to do it last chapter, that IT HAS BEEN MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! I'm actually a year older! Thank you all! I'm a year closer to adultry, a year closer to getting a job where I can do nothing than work... wait a minute... a year closer to... to death... err... a year closer to... having even more responsibility... oh fuck, there has to be _something_ good... HA! A year closer to retirement! Eat that!

I read about some experiment too. When you hide a message or word in another message, people tend not to notice it but do it all the same. For example, when I come home and tell my dad how my day was, I could slip "I want some chocolate" in it, and then he would give me some chocolate...

Thanks to Shire cat, J.C., doctor.seuss and my dear Jinace for their reviews!

* * *

_How would I have to start this? And why did that pen already start writing down? _

_Hello, my name is Matthias. I suppose I don't have to introduce myself anymore, as James the Younger already did that for me last chapter._

_I thought his description was rather flattering, if you ignore the fact he called me a stalker. There spoke a certain kind of respect and even fondness in it. _

_It's true I always was there. From the moment I met them, I had always been close to Jesus and his followers. I had dedicated myself to them, completely at their service. And though I never became an apostle during Jesus' life, they appreciated me more than the other disciples._

_I even got a nickname._

_I'm prouder of that than of anything else. While Peter smiling shook his head, Bartholomew rolled his eyes and Andrew snarled if they heard theirs, I always felt a certain dignity when I heard it. The first time Judas used it I even blushed of happiness. It showed me that I belonged with them so very much, and that they were aware of that._

_I liked Judas. I still do. Maybe that's strange, seeing none of the other apostles, except Peter has been fairly nice in their descriptions of him. I don't know. Maybe it is because it's hard to hate someone you've always admired up till a certain point. I did try to despise him, but then I would always remember little things that showed I could be wrong, and anyway, Jesus is against judgement of people. You can so easily be wrong._

_For example, you all know how he always teased Matthew. But then there was that time they arrived in Samaria, where an uncle of mine lived. Of course he offered them lodgings. Jesus was just gone to talk to him and I was still with the apostles._

۞

"Nice room," John said admiring, looking round.

"I know what else is nice too," James the Younger sniggered. "If you want, Matthias, you can introduce me to your cousin. Lovely girl."

"Yeah, she seemed really sweet," Matthew agreed. "I would like to marry that kind of girl."

"Do you actually think there's a woman who will have you, Matthew?" Simon snorted.

The room fell silent. It was the sort of remark they made to each other whole the time, but now something was different. Maybe it was because of Simon's voice, which had been devoid of anything near humour, or maybe it was Matthew's face, that for a moment had shown genuine hurt before smiling like nothing had happened.

"Someday I will. Marry I mean. Someday," Matthew grinned with slight quavering mouth corners. He stood up and quickly left the room.

"Great, really great, Simon," Bartholomew said sharply.

Simon turned red but tried to defend himself weakly. "It's true, isn't it?"

"Want truth? Okay." Judas walked to the door. "You're a daft prick." Then he followed Matthew.

Simon chewed on his lip for another second before springing at his feet and following the others. "Judas, Matthew, wait up! I didn't mean it like that!"

۞

_I knew all their habits, as well the small, usual things as which food Andrew liked to eat as the little naughtier ones, like the things that would especially make Matthew's nose wrinkle in disgust, or the kind of snoring of Thomas whenever he closed his eyes-_

"_I don't snore!"_

"_Yes, you do."_

"_Go away Simon! I didn't ask you anything!"_

"_Why does everyone read over my shoulder?"_

"_I don't snore!" Thomas repeats, filled with indignation. "Don't you dare write that down, Matthias!"_

_I sigh. "Okay, I'll change it."_

۞

_I liked all of the apostles. I knew all their habits, as well the small, usual things as which food Andrew liked to eat as the little naughtier ones, like the things that would especially make Matthew's nose wrinkle in disgust, or the peculiar noise Thomas made-_

"_Which noise do I make then?"_

"_Why are you all so meddlesome that you can't even wait until I'm finished before reading?"_

"_It's called snoring, Thomas," Phillip observes dryly from beneath the branches of the oversized oak in the Heavenly Garden. It's John and James the Younger's favourite tree, seeing it has such thick branches it's not difficult at all to climb to the top._

"_Matthias! That's not funny!"_

"_Okay, okay."_

۞

_I knew all their habits, as well the small, usual things as which food Andrew liked to eat as the little naughtier ones, like the things that would especially make Matthew's nose wrinkle in disgust, or the soft rumbling Thomas produced at night that resembled vaguely to elephant blaring-_

"_Mat-thi-ias!"_

"_What? What now?"_

"_I don't produce a soft rumbling and all that stuff!"_

"_Okay, okay! I'll change it!"_

۞

_I knew all their habits, as well the small, usual things as which food Andrew liked to eat as the little naughtier ones, like the things that would especially make Matthew's nose wrinkle in disgust, or –let's not write any further._

_I think the fact that we all knew each others habits so well and that we had to put up with them, made us better friends. It's stupid to complain about something you can't change. It's sort of like Matthew's List of Things That Irritate Me. If you know them you can accept them more easily. Or, like Judas always said it: "A friend is someone who likes you, even though they know you."_

_They fascinated me. Fatherly Peter, busybody Matthew, pig-headed Andrew, shy John, witty Judas… Especially Judas. I think everyone who read this story up till now must agree that he was one of the most fascinating apostles._

_What actually made me curious about him was his behaviour towards Jesus. I don't know if the others never noticed it because it had grown in time, or maybe they had gotten so just to it they didn't notice it anymore, but although his words didn't, his entire attitude changed around his best friend._

_I enjoyed watching him when he mocked all the others, an air of indifference and danger around him. He sometimes seemed to breathe out contempt. But always when Jesus showed up, there was a total turn in him. Though he would still eye the world in the same way as always. But it was like he then realised he had a very uninviting way of acting that he couldn't get rid of anymore, and he tried to hide it. In a way, it was very disquieting. Like a violent, suspicious panther trying to be a small, furry kitten. It would be humorous if it wasn't so very desperate how he kept attempting to take away the main thing that was him._

_Seeing my obvious sympathy for him, it might surprise you that in my Event, Judas won't appear. Or maybe he will. I deem that is for you to decide._

۞

"It's impossible," Thomas sighed.

"I tell you it's true!" Mary cried. "I saw him myself! He talked to me! He touched me! Matthias saw it too!"

Tired of the fight, I turned to Peter. "What do you think, Peter?"

"It's hard to believe," he muttered. Thomas just turned triumphantly to Mary when he added: "But then, weren't so many things we've witnessed when we were with Jesus?"

"I believe it," Simon announced.

"Why?" Thomas said startled at the same time Mary hugged him fervently with a "Thank you, thank you, Simon!"

"Because Iscariot would gloat when I said it couldn't be true and it turned out to be," Simon grumbled, robbing the place Mary had pinched too hard.

"Simon," John said carefully, "Judas is dead."

Simon looked slightly baffled. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and then said: "Still no reason to make him happy."

It was three days ago as well Judas as Jesus had died. We had buried them both, Judas in the same earth as the roots of the olive tree he had hung himself in, Jesus in the grave of Joseph of Arimathea. All the other followers of Jesus had left, believing he had been an impostor, seeing he couldn't even save himself from being crucified. Only the apostles, Mary and I had remained. Last night we had decided we should tell the people about Jesus, about his ideas and death. But no one had gathered the courage to leave the others already. When they had noticed only one disciple had stayed, Phillip had said with a compassionate little smile that it seemed that they were with twelve apostles again. This had been followed with a short laugh from Andrew, who had remarked that I was a far better replacement for Judas than Judas himself had ever been. After that they had all accepted me as the new apostle.

And this morning, Mary and I had visited Jesus' grave, only to find his body wasn't there anymore. But when we had looked up, sadder than ever, he had stood there, an unearthly glow around him, and the old smile around his lips like he had never left. First we couldn't believe our eyes, but then Mary squealed and embraced him, weeping and clinging fervently onto him, like he would disappear if she let go. He shook my hand while I still stared at him like he was a ghost, which technically speaking was true, and told us he would come this afternoon to us and the apostles.

So Mary and I had tried to convince them from this morning Jesus had resurrected. If Mary had been alone, I fear they would have thought she had gone mad with grief, but now I supported her theory, most of them were in a state of hesitating approval. Thomas turned out the most stubborn to convince. After Mary had told her story the first time, he had replied bitterly he didn't fancy seeing his hope slammed apart, and that he wouldn't choose between us being mad or liars.

"Why don't you believe them, Thomas?" a soft voice asked.

We all whirled around and there he stood again, his white robe untouched by the dust, his body not deformed by decay. He had cocked his head aside while he looked curiously at Thomas, who gazed as comprehending at him as I had that very morning.

"I'm back," he mentioned casually.

۞

"So we have twelve apostles again-" James the younger babbled happily. We had all overblown Jesus by talking all more than two hours now. It was deep in the night, but still nobody carried a sign of weariness, especially Jesus, who seemed to glow more and more the darker it got.

"Twelve?" Jesus frowned.

"Matthias." Peter's smile slowly faded as Jesus' frown remained firmly on its place.

"Tell me if I understand this correctly," Jesus said slowly. "You have replaced Judas by Matthias?"

"Well… err…yes," James, son of Zebedee, said uncomfortably.

"No." It took me a moment to register the small word which had left Jesus' mouth. The word I already realized what it meant, though the others didn't yet.

"What do you mean, no?" Bartholomew said amazed.

"Nobody can replace Judas." He turned to me. "I'm sorry, Matthias."

I stared at him. I felt my anger coming up, boiling in me. I wanted to yell at him that at least I hadn't betrayed him. That I was much more loyal than Judas had ever been. But when I looked in those calm brown eyes, I realized there was nothing I could say to make him change his mind. I could read in them that he knew everyone of my arguments, and that whatever I said he would not change his mind. My rage slowly flew away, replaced by a dull, thudding hurt and dread. While the others protested and tried to reason with Jesus, I came on my feet, with as much difficulty as a man of eighty, and walked away.

I suppose it was rather ironical that all of them were so desperate to make me stay by convincing Jesus, that none of them noticed me leave.

Like I was forgotten already.

۞

I sat on a small wall while I watched the sun rising. I had sat there most of the night, my head throbbing, while the knowledge slowly sank into my mind. _I'm nothing to them. They've forgotten me already. They didn't even come to seek me, to cheer me up, or at least to say goodbye._

In my childish rage that came up with that last thought, I ignored the little voice in my head that pointed out they couldn't possibly have found me, seeing I myself didn't have a clue where I had wandered to last night. But all too soon that same rage was replaced by the old sadness. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I had nowhere to go to. When I had told my sister's family that I wanted to become one of Jesus' disciples, she had made clear in her snobbish, snapping, piercing voice that if I did so, I wouldn't have to count on them ever taking me back in. At the moment I hadn't mind, save for me little nephew, who I doted on, but now I had nowhere to go. My parents were dead and I had no family save my sister, who could miss her good-for-nothing little brother like toothache.

I was silently thinking over my possibilities (which weren't much) and hitting the wall I sat on rhythmically with my heels when I noticed someone had come to join me.

Jesus looked at me with his calm gaze, waiting me to acknowledge his presence.

When I didn't, he spoke quietly: "I hope you can understand my decision."

I shrugged. "What does it matter?" I said, more bitterness in my voice than I had intended to.

"I don't want you as a replacement, Matthias. You're much more than that." I tried to block out his voice and failed miserably. "It would be as unacceptable to let Matthew replace Simon or the other way around. You are all different, and a replacement is never expected to be different. It should quietly do its work and be grateful for what it gets." We sat silently next to each other, my sadness slowly fading away. Then he added: "And no man on this earth or any angel in Heaven or Hell can ever live up to the standards of Judas."

"I thought already you wouldn't care about all that betraying," I heard my voice say.

He smiled. "How very perceptive of you."

We grinned at each other. "Matthias," Jesus said thoughtfully. "I would like you to come with me and visit someone. Would that be alright?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "That would be nice." I knew he wouldn't have me as an apostle, I knew I would never ever see him again, I knew the best thing to do was to say no and to try to build up a life, but still… my feet wouldn't listen to my mind and followed him out the alley, where Peter leant against the wall, waiting for us.

۞

"So this is where…"

"Yes," Peter muttered.

Jesus nodded and stared at the earth. We stood there a long time, Peter and I, just watching Jesus, his head demurely down, staring at the dark earth.

After some time he sighed. "Thank you for coming." I didn't know if he meant Peter, me, or even somebody else. He turned around and smiled sadly. "Let's go."

"Tell the others I'll miss them," I said to Peter.

"What do you mean?" Jesus asked surprised.

"Well- I guess I won't se them anymo-"

"Of course you'll see them. We're going to them right now."

"But… I thought… I couldn't be an apostle?" I stammered.

Jesus laughed whole-heartedly. "Matthias, I said you couldn't be a _replacement_. I said nothing about not joining the apostles." I looked at Peter, who rolled smiling with his eyes, and felt myself glimmer with joy.

Jesus turned his head around one last time, to look at the three days-old grave. "Well," he sighed, "goodbye, Judas."

۞

_This reminds me of another event that happened not so long ago, here in Heaven. I hope you will forgive me that I write it down here._

۞

A firm hand clasped around my shoulder. "Matthias?"

I wheeled around. "Peter! You gave me a fright!"

"I'm very sorry," he apologized, "but would you mind to come along with me?"

"Sure. Whereto?"

He shook his head mysteriously and led the way. He went to Jesus' chambers, while I trotted after him and wandered what all the secrecy was about. Why couldn't he just tell me what was going on?

Peter opened the door. "Jesus? We're here."

Jesus stood in the middle of the simple, yet cosy white room. "Matthias. We're going to visit someone. Would you like to come?"

"Yeah, sure," I repeated confused. "But what's-"

Jesus quickly shook his head. "Don't ask."

He grabbed Peter's and my hands and we spun around, kept turning around. I couldn't see the room anymore, just a blur of colours, and before me Jesus and Peter. I closed my eyes and grasped his hand harder, pinched in it, while we whirled around and around, spun and spun on and on…

My feet hit the ground with force and I staggered. "I had expected you a bit earlier," a voice drawled. "But welcome to my office, nonetheless."

"I had no idea people who are always late had the right to nag on other people who are once," Peter murmured, while brushing his clothes off. I looked around. _If this is Lucifer's office, then we must be in Hell_. The thought crossed my mind with the speed of lightening and I couldn't help wondering what we were doing in the one place it is Jesus forbidden to come.

Lucifer sniggered. He was sitting with his back to a magnificent hearth fire, his feet crossed on an oaken desk while he leant backwards against the back of his armchair. "I had a late meeting with the Holy Spirit," Jesus explained.

"I see. Well, let's go, shall we?" The little man leapt on his feet and walked sprightly to the door, which is made of the same material as Lucifer's handsome desk. Peter lifted his arm and pointed with a raised eyebrow at the sign above the door, which read in beautiful letters:

I'm busy.  
You're ugly.  
Have a nice day.

Lucifer shrugged. "Someone's got to tell them."

"Indeed," Peter mutters with an amused little smile.

"Shall we?" Jesus asked, while putting on the cap of his robe, so his face was shadowed.

"Of course. Follow me, if you please," Lucifer said in an over polite way and he mockingly held open the door for us.

۞

"This is the civil service quarter," Lucifer informed us in his completely indifferent tone. We were walking along big offices with Devils in neat clothes behind heavy wooden tables, whose back was bent while their ink-spattered claws held firmly onto their quills. "Very primitive, but _they_ won't let me have computers, so unfortunately enough all the smarter Devils have to be put away in here." He nodded to a stern looking, dressed in well-suited black clothes Head Devil, who nodded back, his little glasses almost falling off his long, thin nose.

I looked at another sign that was hanging next to one of the doors. In big, elegant letters it said:

_Lord,  
Grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change,  
The ability to change what I can,  
And the wisdom to hide the bodies of the people that I had to kill because they pissed me off._

Peter had seen it too, and now lifted his eyebrow again at Lucifer. "With _some_ of those signs I had some help," he admitted grudgingly.

"Are there more then?" I asked.

"Of course. I filled the whole place up with it," Lucifer answered while he pointed at another sign that hung above a double door we were heading to, saying:

_Be Healthy:  
Eat Apples_

It was accompanied by the picture of a snake. Peter shook his head, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. Jesus didn't seem to have noticed anything we had said, as he gazed pensively at the floor.

We walked through an ugly, stone corridor, to heave iron wrought doors at the end of the hallway. Next to us various other doors let to- I don't know where. Halfway the corridor hung another placard, reading:

_It's not winning or losing that matters,  
It's how to place the blame._

Behind those double doors, there was a world of difference; we were suddenly between blazing, deafening noises and flickering, blinding lights. "This is the work room," Lucifer shouted at us above the rumour. "Here are the more stupid Devils. They now and then get a huge fight with one of the Official Devils. Mostly these down here win, seeing artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity."

Everywhere was fire, roaring, burning, leaking on the floor, pushing against the glass of the high, huge ovens, blinding me. The Devils all were big, hairy and had muscles that rolled under their skin. They bowed when Lucifer passed.

Though they all looked pretty happy and now and then a burst of laughter went through the room. Some of them were even singing. It was a very jolly song, but I'm not going to write it down here; I blush even as I think about it now. I will write the less dirty verses down for you though:

_« Twenty-four hours a day,  
Twenty-four bottles beer a case…  
Coincidence? That's not what I say!  
If you want to lay around  
And drink beer all day,  
You've gotta start,  
You're bound to start  
Early in the morning! »_

_« I've send my money away  
I've spend my money everyday  
On whiskey and cigarettes  
And women and some cocaine  
To keep me blissfully insane  
'Tis no jest how good the  
World can be in a daze  
The rest of my money  
I've just wasted  
If you want to lay around  
And drink beer all day,  
You've gotta start,  
You're bound to start  
Early in the morning! »_

I think you can get a pretty good impression of the air around there.

An imposing Devil came to Lucifer. When I say imposing, I mean really imposing, like people are when they would possess a chest which was at least 4 feet in width and were themselves double in length. Completely impossible for any human creature, but this Devil managed alright.

"Sir?" A deep thunder seemed to come from somewhere before us. It took me a while to realize it was the Devil's voice.

"What?" Lucifer snapped. I couldn't believe how he sounded; it was like he was chiding a naughty child! A child who was double as big as he was, that is.

To my even further astonishment, the Devil didn't crush him with his thumb, but actually shuffled uncomfortably with his feet and stared at the ground. "We -erm- still haven't managed to get some progress…" The thundering slowly faded in unintelligible muttering as Lucifer frowned dangerously.

"Beelzebub," he began threateningly and the giant actually shrank in fear! "There have to be some brains somewhere in that huge skull of you, so please use them now! I want it as quickly as possible. If you need any help, go over to Moloch and ask him to help you."

"Yes sir," Beelzebub answered automatically. "But-" he resumed. "But- where is Moloch?"

Lucifer used some _very_ impolite words then. "If ignorance is bliss, you must be euphoric! He's with the officials, of course! Now step on it!" Wit those last words, Beelzebub made a small jump and darted hastily out of sight.

Lucifer turned to us. "Moloch," said he, "is one of our geniuses that have gone wrong. It's astonishing, the things he makes- too bad his ego is as big as Beelzebub's ass."

He led us further through the room, to a door on which was written:

Calculated how much you can do wrong  
And still go to Heaven?  
**You've made a tiny mistake**

As we left, another song rose up from behind us.

_« Want to spend your  
Day like me?  
Want to lie around?  
Want to be lazy?  
Want to be so drunk  
You can't keep count  
Of all the bottles?  
If you want to lay around  
And drink beer all day,  
You've gotta start, I tell ya,  
You're bound to start  
Early in the morning! »_

With that, we left the strange, almost misplaced merriment of the hall and went through dark corridors.

۞

At last, we reached a branching. The right went to a deserted hallway, only lit by torches that wavered in the dusk. I couldn't see the end. The right went to a dirty passage, everywhere broken bottles and swearwords accompanied by perverse slogans on the walls. There hung one single sign, as deteriorated as the passage itself, saying:

_**Join the Demons!  
**Travel the Earth,  
Meet interesting people  
And have the change to mess with their minds until they die._

We went into the right.

۞

At the end of the hallway, that seemed to become less dark as you walked through it there was a deep brown wooden door. Lucifer made an elegant movement with his right hand and suddenly held an old, silver key in it. He opened _this is the first time he used keys in there_ it and we came into a corridor with at both sides bars that barricaded the way to- people. Ordinary people. At my left a fair man sat on a plank –I suppose it counted as furniture- that was fixed to the wall, like you have in typical ideas of prisons, his face covered in his hands. I could hear him moan softly as he shivered. Except for him and the plank there was nothing in the cell. Cell. I guess they were that.

At my left, a woman was screaming. I assume it was screaming, but all we heard was a dull, muffled sound. She screamed and pulled at her hair as she stared at something at the ground- my stomach turned upside-down- a murdered baby. The little body was covered with blood and _its_ mouth was twisted in a merciless grin, as its dead, glossy eyes gazed at the woman before him.

I was frozen in horror, staring at the image. Jesus, at the other hand, looked as horrified as I was, but he stared at the man. Peter whirled to Lucifer, who put his hands in a helpless gesture in the air. "I can't help it, Peter. I really can't." His voice sounded rueful as he walked to me. "Believe me, of most of the things down here I'm not proud myself." He carefully tried to guide me along. "C'mon, Matthias. You can't help her. You can't help anyone here."

"But I can," Jesus whispered fervently and put out his hands to the bars.

The next moment Lucifer had seized him and enticed him away. "Jesus," he said firmly, "as soon as you touch any of the people down here, all alarms in Heaven will be raised. In no time the entire Heaven Security will stand here to take you up again. It's a choice you will have to make. Trying to help one now, or…" he stopped.

Jesus stared at the ground, breathing heavily. "Go on," he choked out, his voice strained by the tears.

We walked past people screaming, shuddering, yelling, shivering, moaning, whimpering, hiding, looking wide-eyed at something only they could see, at images, at thin air, all of them, looking, not looking, laughing madly, imploring forgiveness, squealing, all desperate, all alone, all not seeing the people that passed their cells, all of them…

A little girl crying, running to a stuffed bear that hung in the air and disappeared just before she could touch it and reappearing at the other side of the cell, disappearing when she tried to come near it again; a woman with her arms around her, rocking forth and back, silently smiling to herself, coaxing, caressing herself, it would be alright, it would be alright, everything would be fine, the smile plastered on her face; a man lying shuddering on the floor, muttering something I couldn't understand; a boy yelling to thin air to leave him alone, he wouldn't wouldn't, and he didn't already have, he refused and wouldn't, no matter what; a man battering the walls, yelling to his mother help him, sister, help him, Leo, help him, help, help, Leo, Angela, mother, Mira, Leo, please help him, Leo, someone, help him, Leo, someone, _anyone_, help…

Lucifer looked at the ground, ignoring the shouts. Peter stared right in front of him, jaw clenched. Jesus saw pale, but turned his head aside and aside, his eyes becoming harder and softer every minute.

Finally we stopped before a cell where silence reigned. There was no noise in it. Not even the ruffling of clothes that was caused by the whimpering in every other cell. The man in this cell sat completely still, not moving. His face was buried in his arms, which where laid on his knees that where pulled up. His messy black hair hung over his arms that covered a face we couldn't se-

**Author's Note:** here the story stops. The small dash here is actually in the original book a long pencil line, caused following our informant, by the _bloody invisible_ Holy Spirit, who had just started reading without the apostle Matthias' knowing over his shoulder, and then snatched the book and pen from aforementioned apostle's hands. _Fuckin' lucky 'nough_, our informant told us, the apostle Thomas, also called Doubting Thomas, was close by and pulled the book quickly out of the Holy Spirit's hands again. He threw it to the apostle Andrew, who gave it quickly to the apostle John, who runs apparently _like a damn quick horse_, and managed to pass it on to Jesus Christ, Holy Son, who immediately forbade the Holy Spirit to try to interfere with the book again. As for the pen, the apostle Simon the Zealot rescued it. Unfortunately, the pen misunderstood the mentioned apostle's intentions and apparently covered him with ink. Both are in good health, though, except for some foul word-use from one side.

* * *

Nice long, eh? Nice long chapter, nice long chapter, nice long review, nice long chapter, nice long chapter... 


	14. Phillip of Bethsaida

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, sure. I'm over 2,000 years old. I just have very good wrinkle cream.

**Author's note:** I watched this wonderful movie! Monthy Python's Life of Brian. Watch it all! I especially loved the conversation with the ex-lepar, who kept nagging about how he couldn't beg anymore seeing Jesus had cured him (instead of being grateful!) and how he hoped that Jesus perhaps could make his foot lame, but only on weekdays...

BRIAN: here you go.

EX-LEPAR: thank you sir- WHAT?! Half a dinar for my life story?!

BRIAN: there's no pleasing some people.

EX-LEPAR: That's just what Jesus said sir!

So I also watched JCS again and I've gone off fantazing about tight seventies' shirts and trousers with Jerôme Pradon and Glenn Carter in them...

Oh, the sheer wickedness and blasphemy of my distorted mind!

Thanks to Shire Cat (check out her/his stories! (s)he's great) and my lovely Jinace!

* * *

_God, what a story! Why didn't Matthias or Peter or Jesus or Lucifer, for that matter, tell anyone before? For Christ's sake…_

_I figure I just hit the bull's eye._

_I got this booklet from Jesus, who had just made a mighty tantrum with the Holy Spirit because he tried to remove the book from Heaven. It's long ago I ever saw Jesus so angry. The Holy Spirit was baffled by it too, apparently._

_My name is Phillip. I used to be a fisher, together with my friends Peter, Andrew and the brothers Boanerges, the sons of Zebedee. They used to call me Phishy, or at least, Andrew did until I threatened to tell his mother. He was quite astonished and insulted to get a remark that was (clearly for him) way below the belt._

_He called me Phishy because I am most of the time fairly quiet, until someone mentions fishing. Then I can hardly stop talking. It was my job, but also my favourite pastime. It gave me all peace and silence I needed in order to think, except when I joined the others to fish._

_Just try to shut up Andrew or John._

_Peter could be very silent as well, but he never went fishing without his brother. James had the very annoying habit to hum tunes off key under his breath. So mostly I went on my own, causing Andrew to say my head would blow up one day because of all the thinking. Mostly the others smiled when they heard the remark, more out of habit than because it really after all those years still amused them. After we joined the apostles, we sometimes went to fish too, if we were close to a river. But after the first time I went to sit apart again, Andrew never made that remark again._

_Maybe because Judas kept telling him he should envy me, because Andrew's head would never, ever blow up in cause of thinking too much, seeing you needed a brain to think._

_Anyway, I just read this entire book for the first time, especially Matthias' chapter. I'm quite swept off my feet. What happened there… well, of course, all of us immediately demanded the rest of their story, so we know everything now. And we also know why they couldn't tell us before._

_The Holy Spirit and the Holy Father, you see, seem to like control about their third member, Jesus. So every time the name 'Judas of Iscariot' or other 'blasphemous terms' are mentioned aloud in Heaven or Hell, all alarms rise in the Secret Surveying Chamber, SS for short. From there immediately a sign is given to the Holy Spirit, who runs off to wherever the 'offence' happened._

_Explains a lot, doesn't it?_

_It explains especially why Jesus first made the entire room soundproof before he, Matthias and Peter told the rest of their story._

_Right. I guess I should start my Event. I've chosen… well, I'm not going to tell you. You'll read it. Just remember we had arrived in Zoar, and an admirer of Jesus had given us lodgings – well, not really lodgings, but we could sleep in one of his many possessions, an old Greek temple. It wasn't a palace, but we had food and a roof above your head is always pleasant._

_This Event took place… rather early. Somewhere between James and Thomas' stories. I hope you kind of know then when._

۞

"D'you reckon we could use this as a table?" James asked, pointing at the sacrifice altar.

"I guess nobody'll mind," Peter replied.

"It _is_ very pretty isn't it?" John said admiring.

It sure was. The temples graceful pillars winded to the sky and though the many, almost naked statues (I had seen Matthew going quite red when he saw one) were mostly broken, they had some indefinite beauty about them. The baker in the town who had given us our bread, had told us the local 'weirdo', like he praised it, liked to wander in it. Apparently Jesus' admirer who owned the land, had seen no reason to pull it down, so it still stood here, some lost glory, with a touch of melancholy.

Peter, Mary, both the Jameses, Jesus, Judas and I still were in what could be described as the entrance hall. The rest had spread out through the entire temple and was rapidly searching and discovering the building. Now and then you could here a shout or enthusiastic voices if something new was discovered.

"Hey! In this room there's a gap close to the floor! You can see feet!" Andrew yelled from a big, hidden niche.

Judas and I interestedly walked over, and indeed, if you bucked and peeped through the gap, you could see Thomas and Bartholomew's feet, who seemed to be in the adjacent room. If I would reach out, I could touch them. Not that I had any desire to do so. Andrew ran off, as happy as a child, to tell the others what he had found. He almost tripped over a long, winding piece of rope, which was lying innocently on the floor close to the niche, cursed the rope, apologized to Jesus, kicked the rope too hard so it slid next to Judas and me, stubbed his toes against the wall in the action, cursed the rope again, apologized again, gave the rope a malignant glare and disappeared.

"Is the fact," Judas murmured, glancing through the gap again, "that Andy talks against ropes worrisome or not? Or are we only allowed to doubt his mental abilities once he starts talking to walls?"

I smiled. "I reckon you didn't really need a reason to doubt those, did you?"

"I don't answer rhetorical questions, Philly. Would you be so kind to hand me the object of Andy's wrath?" he said, slightly distraught, and pointed at the rope.

"Here you go. I'm going to the others again, if you don't mind. May I ask what you're going to do with that rope?" I eyed him surprised, not really understanding what he was up to.

He looked at me and shot me one of his mischievous grins. "I think you'd have moral objections, Philly, so better don't ask."

I rolled my eyes and joined the others in the hall.

They had prepared some kind of table, using the sacrifice altar, and were now talking amongst each other. I sat down next to Mary, who interrupted her conversation long enough to smile at me.

I have never been married. Due to bad luck and a minority of girls in the village and surrounding land most of my friends hadn't, except those who had been lucky, like Peter. I was always rather jealous of him, not because I was in love with Esther, but because he had a wife, who cared for him, whom he knew to be waiting for his return every evening. I never had any children. But I liked to think that if I had a daughter, she would be like Mary. I have to admit that I acted a bit like a father or older brother would do towards her, but she never seemed to mind, she even seemed to enjoy it.

"Hello-o, sleepyhead!" James the Younger waved a hand before my face.

"Mmh? Did you say something?" I said confused. Judas sat down next to Peter and gave me an exaggerated wink.

"I asked where the others were, dreamer," he grinned.

"I've got not the faintest idea," I replied honestly.

"Well, wherever they are, they'd better get here soon, cause I'm hungry and I'm not gonna wait till they all are-"

BANG! At that moment there sounded a cry and the sound of something heavy falling down, followed by a great roar of laughter that could only be Simon's. Everybody whirled around, except for Jesus, Judas and me. I was eying Judas suspiciously, though he was staring innocently at the ceiling. Jesus shook his head but had to strain himself not to smile. "What have you done _now_, Judas?" he said, expressing my very thoughts.

"You know," Judas said frowning, waving with his index finger in a very Matthew-like way, "I wished that everybody would stop trying to pin everything that happens on me. It might be hard to believe, but not everything in the world is my fault." This statement was followed by such an insolent grin that nullified his little speech immediately.

Jesus now really smiled. "So what exactly happened?"

"I say, Tom and Barty've become quite ah- attached to each other," Judas said serenely.

There was a lot of commotion at that point in the door gap to the following room. Simon came in first, wiping tears from his eyes and still chuckling. Next came John who was saying concernedly: "I really can't get it loose, maybe there's a knife somewhere…" and Andrew, who was grinning widely. Matthew was shaking his head and trying to hide his obvious smirk together with Thaddaeus, who was hiding his laugh behind his hand.

And then-

"_You know what's very funny?" Judas said dreamily to Bartholomew._

"_What?" the other answered distracted._

"_When you tie someone's feet together when he's not watching."_

_Bartholomew gave this some fair thought before answering: "You're right, but you should've told me that when we were alone."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because we now will've to wait some time before practising it on one of our idiots here."_

"Well, well," Judas said mildly, looking at Bartholomew, whose right foot was tied up by the rope Andrew had almost tumbled over, and Thomas, whose left foot was tied up by the same rope.

"Judas, I'm gonna _kill_ you," Bartholomew said furiously, his head red.

"How very aggressive, Barty. You know, that attitude is not going to make you loved."

Bartholomew forgot he was tied to Thomas and wanted to fly on Judas. Thomas gave a shriek when his ankle suddenly flew from beneath him and fell on the ground. Bartholomew, who had suddenly a lot more to drag forth, lost his balance and also ended up, face flat, on the floor.

"Be careful," Jesus said concernedly, jumping on his feet and walking to the two unfortunate, while Simon threw himself on the floor and slammed the floor with his fist, having one fit of laughter after the other.

"We'll need a knife," John said worriedly. "I tried to unloose the knot, but it's far too complicated."

"Here," Peter said and handed him the knife we used to cut our food.

"Hey!" James protested. "Someone'd better wash it, I'm not gonna eat anything that's been touched by a knife that has been close to Thomas's foot!"

"Judas, I suggest you start running, cause the moment I'm loose-" Bartholomew started as he took the knife Peter gave him. At that moment there was a cry.

"JOSHUA!"

We all turned to the entrance of the Greek temple, where a little boy, round the age of ten, I thought, stood. I remember myself wondering who in Heaven's name he meant, when he and Jesus both lunged forward and Jesus embraced the boy, deadly pale. Jesus scooped the boy up in his arms, while the youngster didn't stop talking. I couldn't understand what he was saying though, seeing he broke off his sentences almost right after starting them, stumbled over his own tongue and squealed with delight. "Judas," Jesus muttered and for a moment we all turned to our Judas, who was looking as amazed as we were, "where are the others? You didn't come here all by yourself, did you? How did you get here?"

The youngster, who apparently also called Judas (it was a popular name back then), nodded rapidly. "There all waiting downstairs for you. Normally only James- but I went along. And Joshua, Susie-"

I saw Jesus' (Joshua's?) arms tighten involuntary as he stared over Judas' little head at the entrance of the temple, were another man had appeared, who was watching stiffly. Even little Judas stopped talking as an uncomfortable silence settled down. No one of the apostles spoke or moved, as if we were spectators of a play.

"Hello James," Jesus said softly.

The other inclined his head. "Joshua," his voice sounded icily polite. "Your family is waiting downstairs for you."

"Family?" Jesus smiled sadly. "This," he gestured with his free arm to us, "is my family now, James."

Now the James at the end of the hall was completely rigid. Little Judas plucked at Jesus' sleeve. "Won't you come down, Joshua? Mummy and everyone want to see you," his thin voice begged.

Jesus sighed and put the boy on his feet. "You go ahead. I'll come immediately."

Judas seemed to find his energy back at that and ran at James, started pulling at James's leg and squeal that they should go down already. James turned around and walked downstairs without looking back, little Judas trailing behind him.

Jesus didn't turn around to us. "Jesus," he mentioned, "is the Greek form of Joshua."

"Who were those?" James, son of Zebedee, questioned.

For a moment Jesus said nothing. "They are my brothers," he spoke finally. "I will have to go and see them." He sounded quite weary. "Mary, Judas, Phillip, will you please come with me?"

For a moment I thought I had misunderstood him – surely he'd have chosen Peter? – but then I saw him glancing at Mary. He wanted for one reason or another someone who would take care of her. Did he think she could be in danger? Why take her then?

I didn't voice any of my questions and took my place behind Jesus, while Mary and Judas stood beside him. Like that we went downstairs, to a group of five. Jesus stared at the stairs and Judas' face was blank, but Mary looked as curious as I felt. Why did Jesus' family visit him here? Why had he never mentioned them? I couldn't really picture Jesus in a family situation. Strangely enough, I had never really thought about his parents. Why did that James look almost hostile? And most importantly: what was happening?

We stopped downstairs. I stood two steps above the others. Judas wandered to the side of the staircase and sat down. Jesus' family consisted of two women and three men, if you could call little Judas a man.

The eldest woman was probably Jesus' mother; she had a hook-nose, a thin face (which Jesus had inherited from her) and piercing eyes with small wrinkles. Her hair was covered by a dark shawl and her stiff posture was almost regal. The younger woman's hair was also covered by a shawl, but except for the prominent nose all resemblance stopped there. Her face was much rounder, her hair was a light brown and her large eyes, which resembled greatly to Jesus', were soft. But she also had a definite, but much kinder, air of royalness.

James on the other hand resembled a great deal to his mother, though he lacked the regal appearance. His hair was almost as black as Judas of Iscariot's. The other man looked a lot like his sister; his face was round and though his eyes were a lot smaller, they seemed friendly. Little Judas was a mix of these distinguish marks; small, friendly eyes, black hair, round face. The only thing they had all in common was the large nose. Which was the only thing Jesus lacked.

"Won't you greet me, Joshua?" the elder woman asked, looking over her nose at her son.

Jesus nodded at her. "Good afternoon, mother." He hesitated for a moment. "This is Phillip of Bethsaida." He gestured to me and I nodded at them. Little Judas waved frantically. The younger woman and the other man smiled at me, the last a bit more uncertain, Jesus' mother inclined her head at me. James gave no sign of having heard his brother. "This is Judas of Iscariot." They all looked at the silent man and quickly averted their gaze again. Even when doing something as simple as sitting, Judas seemed to radiate animosity. "And this is Mary Magdalene." Mary smiled shyly. The same man and woman who had smiled at me smiled at her and little Judas pulled at his sister's dress and whispered audibly: "She's pretty, isn't she Susie?" Mary blushed, though I did not know whether it was because she had heard the compliment or because of James' look, who was scrutinizing her and apparently didn't like what he saw. His mother's eyes also dwelled over my friend, but hers seemed to approve.

The younger woman hesitated for a moment, then quickly stepped forward and embraced Jesus. Jesus in turn threw his arms around her and murmured: "Hello Susanna."

"Joshua. I missed you so. And you missed so much," she smiled when she let go of him. "Lisa got a baby."

Jesus seemed disconcerted. "Did she?"

Susanna nodded. "She would've come too, but she had to take care of her boy. His name is Samuel. Simon also couldn't come. He's married to Dahlia now and she's pregnant. And I-" She took a deep breath and resumed: "I'm getting married next month."

Jesus was speechless for a moment. "To- to Jeremiah, I hope?"

Susanna laughed. "Yes, he finally asked me."

"How did you know?" the other man asked. "I didn't even know she was in love until Jeremiah came to ask for her hand." Jesus just smiled.

"Will- will you come to my wedding, Joshua?" Susanna asked pleading. "I want you to give me away."

Jesus nodded, still smiling. "Of course."

Susanna walked to Mary and put her arms around the girl's shoulders. Mary seemed surprised but happy when the other let go of her. Jesus' sister took both her hands in hers. "And if he looks upon you as his sister," she said gently, "then you also are mine. And you are all most welcome."

"Thank you," Mary breathed.

Susanna walked to me and took also my hand. I smiled at her. I could not remember ever having met a woman who was as independent of her family as her and I found her very special. Women were supposed to let the men do everything, but she had an air of spontaneity around her. After that she walked to Judas and I now admired her when she took the hostile man's hand too and dared to look him in the eye. A small smile, almost undetectable for anyone who didn't know him, had crept up to his lips and Susanna, who had sensed the change in his attitude, smiled back.

Next moment Susanna shrank from him, fear plain on her features, as hatred was shown in every of his. Jesus' family seemed to have the fright of their life. I looked past the girl, as it was obvious to me that Judas didn't look at her. Jesus and Mary did the same.

At the end of the alley a man strutted towards us, tapping James on his shoulder. With difficulty James tore his eyes of Judas and turned around. "Yes, Isaiah? Is there a problem?"

"Nah, I just wanted to know when you lot were coming back," the man drawled. "You see, I wanted to-" he stopped in the middle of his sentence and, feeling a pair of eyes on him, turned to Judas. For a moment his eyes narrowed, and then a hideous grin appeared on his face. "Well, if that isn't Judas! That's some time ago I've seen you and your mother! How is the oldie, eh? Kind of miss her now and then."

I thought some words I never would've dared to said aloud with Jesus around and moved a bit closer to Judas, ready to grasp him if he tried to kill this Isaiah. Isaiah laughed unpleasantly. His eyes fell on Mary. "Or've you taken over the family business?" He pointed at the girl, who cast her eyes at the ground, the nape of her neck and cheeks reddening. I felt anger boiling in me. How _dared_ he? How dared he to even _look_ upon her? Isaiah's eyes had wandered on to Jesus. "I suppose he's for the Romans?" The man grinned his nasty grin again. "I've heard they don't mind a handsome boy now and then and this one _is_ pretty-"

"Judas!" I bellowed, but he slipped through my hands and flew at the man, who had become very pale. In a second Jesus' family made room for him, which I could understand, seeing Judas still quite calm expression. If features ever spoke, then his did now: _I'm going to hurt you, kill you, and I'll do it very slowly and thoughtful, so I'll be sure to cause you as much pain as possible with every punch._

Isaiah shrank back and his hand grasped for his dagger, which hung loosely under his belt, but before he could get firm grip on the haft, Judas had also a dagger in his hands and a mocking smirk on his face. He had already covered two third of the way, he would let the blade run over the man's-

"Judas!"

Judas stopped dead, his eyes still on the suddenly much smaller man before him. Jesus stepped before him and looked up to his face. "Judas," he repeated sharply. Slowly Judas dropped his gaze until he looked his friend in the eye.

He slowly put the dagger back under his shirt, nodded to Jesus and walked back to his place. "I advise you to just wait at your cart, Isaiah." His cold voice could've cut steel. "And especially to avoid all your usual stupid remarks."

Maybe Isaiah would have stayed to fight if it hadn't been Judas. But I think his height – Judas was bigger than most men – and complete indifference to the consequences of his actions pushed him over the brink. He quickly walked away, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

As soon as the man had disappeared around a corner, James spoke. "What in heaven's name is all this, Joshua?" he snapped. "I heard you were trailing around with – _apostles_, but what is this… this _watchdog_ doing with you?" His hands were shaking with fury and fear.

Judas chuckled and gave James a very dark smirk. "I'd watch out if I were you, boy," he remarked. His voice had lost a bit of its rough quality, but still was anything but pleasant. "This dog doesn't bark, only bites."

"Please Judas," Jesus said softly, stepping away from his family and back to us. For a moment I realized how much James' words were true as Judas – as if on command – shrugged and leant back.

James went on, though he now and then gave Judas a scared glance. "And you travel around with this – this –" He didn't seem to find words while he stared at Mary.

"Watch it," I snarled and stepped behind her. I felt like my head would explode when I saw how much upset the girl was.

"James, be silent dear," Jesus' mother spoke. She rearranged her shawl. "I doubt that there's any reason to stay here any longer," she continued. "Seeing Joshua will come to Susanna's wedding." She stared for a moment at her oldest son, trying to pierce through him it seemed with her eyes. "And you don't plan on coming now along with us, do you?"

Jesus shook his head. "No mother, I don't."

She nodded. "Then I will see you in a month. Take your friends along. And try not to be late, darling. You used to gaze for hours at simple things. Try to avoid that now."

A light smile touched Jesus' lips. "Beautiful simple things nevertheless, mother."

"I never understood you, Joshua," his mother replied as a goodbye. She turned around and walked majestically away. "Oh, and James, love," she casually threw over her shoulder. "Don't give that driver a tip. He talks anything but politely."

"Well, we need to go," Susanna smiled and kissed Jesus on the cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." Jesus shook his other brother's hand. "Goodbye Joseph, Judas."

"Will that nice lady come too?" Judas whispered when Jesus hugged him close to him.

"I think so," Jesus answered, looking sideways at Mary and smiling.

"What did that sir mean when he said that Romans like handsome boys?"

"I don't know." For a moment I thought he had to be lying – then I realized I was talking about Jesus, the only human creature on this earth who was incapable of lying. "Now go along. I'll see you next month."

"So long?" Judas pouted.

"Come along, Judas," Susanna said, taking him over from Jesus. "Goodbye, Joshua."

Even when they had disappeared around the corner, it took a while before Jesus moved again.

۞

I leant back against the pillar, the ground cold under my behind but not uncomfortably so. For the first time in my life I understood John's fascination about the sky. Looking up at night, at the moon, at the stars, seeing the slightest changes in blue, in black.

I had tossed around for quite a while before I admitted to myself I wasn't going to fall asleep. So I had stood up and slipped out the inner room where we all slept. Seeing the volume in which Thomas snored I was surprised I was the only one.

And now I sat at the entrance hall, my hair being softly swept in and out my eyes by a soft breeze, feeling strangely at ease. We had talked about the event in hushed tones the entire evening and I had grown very tired of having to repeat everything that had occurred. Mary and Jesus had sat next to each other, a fair distance of the fire. Judas had sat next to the fire, but no one had had the foolish determination to attempt conversation with him. Simon had kept him company whole the time and had muttered when everyone had stood up to go to sleep "Let go of it, mate". It was the only thing he had said, which was quite remarkable for Simon.

I heard footfalls behind me and wanted to stand up and look around the pillar, seeing I was hidden from view, but a sneering voice stopped me.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

Judas.

"She has fallen asleep now," Jesus' voice answered. "She was very tired."

"I can imagine so," Judas said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. I hated this tone of his. Judas had shown more sides of contempt than I had imagined existed, but for any subjects related to Mary he saved a special brand.

"You are still awake, I see."

Judas snorted. "While we're busy stating the obvious, yes, I am."

The sound of feet moving over stony floors came closer and the both of them walked right past me, not noticing me, Jesus being absorbed in his thoughts, and Judas too busy staring at his friend. They stopped at the steps and Jesus sat down. "Could I ask you something?"

"May I point out you already have?" Judas said dryly, looking down on Jesus. I considered making myself known to them, seeing they would probably talk about something private. But my curiosity won it.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Alright, I did. But I hoped to get to know something more about the events from this afternoon. After all, no one had explained anything.

Jesus gave a weak laugh. "What did that man mean with saying that Romans like handsome boys?"

For a moment Judas stood motionless and then he threw his head back in his neck and laughed his deep, mirthless laugh. Jesus simply waited until he was finished before looking expectantly up. "I had totally forgotten," Judas said with a certain chilly amusement. He was silent for a moment, then resumed: "Isaiah was one of the men who sometimes asked my mother if she wouldn't rent _me_ out. Said he could teach me some things. And… the Romans are said to buy especially small, handsome boys as slave." Silence. "She always told them where they could exactly put his money if he tried that," Judas added pensively. "I always wondered if it was because she felt insulted they were willing to pay more for me then for her or because she actually…" He stopped.

"She did care," Jesus whispered. "But… that's horrible. Judas. Real horrible." Even in the moonlight he was remarkably pale.

Judas shrugged disinterested and sat down. "Could you explain _me_ something now? That little Judas-"

"Yes? What about him?"

"You said your father died sixteen years ago. Yet he cannot be older than ten years-"

"Seventeen," Jesus said softly.

"I beg your pardon?" I almost laughed. Judas had sounded so – baffled. And damned polite. I too was sure I had misunderstood Jesus, but to hear Judas – Judas! – sound as startled as that, many would've given a lot of money.

Jesus took a deep breath. "Picture a tree. You plan on lifting material to the top, so you bound a rope around the highest branch and around the material, so all you have to do is climb in the tree and pull it up. But it gets stuck behind a thick branch. You cannot climb down without letting the material fall and destroying it. And even if you could, cutting the branch won't help, for then you've damaged the tree too much. So there you stand, not able to move, the material still at the same height." He bit on his lip. "The material is Judas' mind. The tree is Judas himself. His mind is stuck at the age of eight, nine, just like his height. I cannot fix it – I've tried, believe me, I've tried often. But it's impossible to fix except by destroying the rest of him."

"I'm sorry," Judas murmured.

"Don't be," Jesus said softly. "He's happy, that's the most important. He will not marry, of course, but he's still of the age that you wouldn't want to marry even if they paid you for it. But we – my family takes care of him."

There was peace for a moment, while Jesus gazed up to the stars and Judas looked at his friend. Then -

"_Why_ do you carry weapons, Judas?" Jesus asked.

Judas shrugged. "Last time it was two to one. I didn't fancy getting hit like that again. I had bruises everywhere and that one cut hardly stopped bleeding. It seemed more convenient." For a second I had no clue what he was talking about, but then a light sprung up. Of course. The time those two men had been hitting him and James the Younger and I had helped him.

"More convenient?" Jesus' voice was quivering.

He sprung up and Judas started. "You know what? I despise you," Jesus snapped, trembling like leaf. "You and that attitude of yours. You cannot kill everyone who has slept with your mother, Judas!"

"I know," Judas said, appearing calm. "But I can get a good shot at it."

"Why would you do that? What does it _matter_? It doesn't matter! Will you kill everyone too who insulted you? Who has another opinion than you?" Jesus sounded at the verge of breaking and I was in a dilemma. Should I help him or stay put? I decided to wait a bit longer. Judas had never hurt Jesus, after all.

"Of course not. Sit down, Jesus. You look thoroughly undone."

"_Don't_ do that, Judas, don't you do that! I'm tired of it, of everything and especially of you! Sometimes I think that the only one who really listens to me is Mary!"

In a flash Judas was also on his feet, towering above his friend. "Yes, she does, doesn't she? Sit with you, eat with you, doing everything with you, stare at you with her cow eyes, listening to you – oh no, that's quite impossible, seeing you need a bigger brain than hers for that-"

I would've stood up and shouted, though I have not and didn't have the faintest idea of what I was going to shout, if Jesus' head hadn't whipped around. "Don't you dare Judas," he said, his voice barely over a whisper. "Take your frustrations out on me, on the entire world, but leave Mary alone. You're frightened of her. I know that. I can feel you are."

For a moment they just stared at each other. "Will you the fuck," Judas snarled suddenly, making me jump, "will you the _fuck_ stay out of my mind!"

"With pleasure." Jesus turned around and descended the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Judas demanded.

"I do not know. Anywhere as far as possible away from you will satisfy, I think."

"Jesus!" Judas began to follow his friend down and I stood half up, not knowing whether to follow them or to stay. "Jesus! Wait, please – please, Jesus, I didn't mean it – Jesus – please stay-" He was pleading. Judas was pleading.

I could only see their silhouettes now on the stairs. Jesus stopped halfway, swaying on his feet and passing a hand over his brow. "Jesus? Are you alright?" Judas asked worried. "Please come back up. I promise I won't – you aren't going to faint, are you?"

"I – I-" he almost fell forward and Judas started. "I'm dizzy," he finished hardly audible.

"Come back up," I think Judas said, but it was so quietly I'm not sure.

"I – I will. I've difficulty seeing, with all those - -those spots," Jesus muttered.

He turned around and staggering went back. Judas followed him closely. Jesus sat, almost fell down at the same spot as before and tried to control his shuddering breath. Judas looked for a moment at him and then walked to the part where the others were. After a minute he was back, carrying two blankets. I realized I was still half on my feet and sank back as Judas draped them around his friend and sat down two steps beneath Jesus, so his friend could look down at him.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Judas," Jesus murmured. "I shouldn't have."

Judas nodded. "Are the headaches real bad?"

"Yes…" Jesus muttered. "I had them the entire day again. They just wouldn't leave. I guess it's that that frustrated me so much. It's just – I wish people would remember _me_, not what I stand for or the way how they'll twist and misinterpret what I said. But just me. The way I was."

Judas frowned as he looked up. "You're not dead yet, Jesus."

Jesus gave a weak laugh. "You never know." He had apparently glimpsed something, for he added: "What've you got there?"

"I picked them this afternoon. I planned on drying and saving them for a special occasion," Judas explained. "But I suppose now is as special as ever." He handed Jesus something.

"Dates," Jesus smiled and I could hear a laugh. Dates were Jesus' favourite fruit. "Thank you, Judas." He now smiled genuinely.

He ate the dates silently, once offering one to Judas, who refused. I was unnoticed, even by myself, dozing off when Judas said: "Maybe you should go to sleep. You look dead on your feet."

Jesus smiling shook his head. "Not yet, I think. I will take a walk. Do you want your blanket back?"

"No. And what did I tell you about going for a walk on your own?"

"You probably told me never to do it," Jesus replied cheekily. "You always tell me not to do things… it's hard to keep track after a while…"

Judas chuckled as they stood up. "I'm coming with you."

"You're most welcome."

Judas nodded, like he wasn't really listening, and stared at Jesus. Suddenly he reached out and stroked with his index finger over Jesus' hair. I couldn't see Jesus' expression from where I sat, but I could hear the surprise and hesitation in his voice as he said: "Are… are you coming?"

"Yes," Judas replied hastily, drawing back his arm. "Yes. I'm coming."

* * *

Reviews for the girlie! Reviews for the girlie! Reviews for the girlie! 


	15. James son of Zebedee

**Disclaimer:** Memories... like the corner of my mind...

**Author's note:** What?! We started already? Can't anyone WARN me, for Christ's sake?! I WAS singing, you know.

Oh yeah, in this chappie I'm introducing notes: you see a number next to the text like this "You look like my aunt's pie"(1) and then they're explanations on the bottom of the chapter. 'Kay? Okay!

Thanks to Doors need lurve 2, Shire cat, WittyFae and my darling Jinace!

* * *

_If __I move my tower to the right, that bishop will get me. Then again, when I move my queen five squares forward, I can put that black horse into danger. But if Peter notices that, his king –_

"_James?"_

"_Yes, John?"_

"_You do realize you've already put that pen on the paper?"_

"_Oh, yes, of course, thank you." I look at the page. "Can we erase that somehow?"_

"_I'm afraid not."_

"_Just great."_

۞

_Good day,_

_My name is James. But seeing that was a fairly popular name when I was born, most people call me James, son of Zebedee. People who are too lazy to speak those three extra words, call me Jams.__ My brother, John, and I are also called the Boanerges, which means Sons of Thunder and is a joke of Jesus, seeing neither of us likes violence._

"_When are you going to write it?" Andrew's face appears exited above my shoulder._

"_Just in a moment. Can't you at least have a bit of patience?"_

"_Or pretend you have?" Thaddaeus adds._

"_I just want to make sure he writes it!"_

"_And he's going to. So shut up."_

"_I'll shut up if you shut up."_

"_I'm not gonna do that! Besides, you started it."_

"_Very childish response, really, Thaddaeus."_

"_And you're the example of maturity, I presume."_

_The answer is an indignant pout._

_I sigh. "Look, Andrew, I am going to write it, but when I choose to, alright?"_

"_Which is now?" He looks up with a hopeful expression._

"_Moron," is Bartholomew's opinion._

۞

_I suppose I will have to tell how I__ got this booklet, just like all the others. I'm sorry for Simon that it will be known now to everyone who reads this. This is something that should only be used between our group of friends, but it's the only way to get rid of Andrew and Matthew's whining._

"_I don't whine! Andrew, alright, but certainly not me!"_

"_Which word do you prefer then, Matthew?" Thomas asks friendly. "To gripe, to wail, to grouse, to snivel, to grumble, to lament, to groan, to nag, to yammer –"_

_This __is going to take a while, judging the affronted splutter that comes from Matthew's side._

_Oh, I'm leaving for some place quiet._

۞

_We were in the Heavenly Garden when Phillip unnoticed came to sit with us. He moved till next to me. "James, if you want to w__rite your Event, the book is in the Apostles' Room."_

"_Thanks," I replied, and came on my feet. I had proposed to write the chapter after Phillip's, and Bartholomew had agreed, seeing he didn't want to think right now._

"_I'm coming with you," Thomas offered. "I left my novel over there."_

"_I'm with you also." James the Younger sprung up. "The canopies there are softer than here. Then I can take a nap."_

"_Why don't you just go to your room then?" Thomas wanted to know while we walked to the entrance._

"_My room is on the fifth floor."_

"_So?"_

"_Do you want me to climb all the way up?"_

"_Why not?"_

"_And go into all that trouble?" James sounded totally disbelieving._

_Thomas sighed. "Forget I asked."_

"_I will, thank you."_

_We had reached the door to the Apostles' Room and a voice drifted to us through the closed door. "You've been a real nuisance, do you know that? Everybody's teasing me with what you did. And really, all I wanted last time was to help. I mean, I don't really like you, but I like the Holy Sprit even less. He's a real fop. Not that you can do much about it…" Simon's voice trailed off. I wondered for a moment while I opened the door who he was talking to: as far as I had seen, every apostle, including Matthias, plus Mary and Jesus were in the Garden._

_When the door groaned as it disclosed, Simon jumped, a look of shock momentarily crossing his features. "Damn! Do you have to burst in like that?" he exclaimed. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"_

"_I apologize," I murmured, as I caught James staring wide-eyed at the table in front of Simon. On it lay the Event-book and the pen stood palpitating on its point, – I know this sounds strange – interestedly turned to Simon. Something began to dawn on me..._

"_Y__ou were talking to the pen?" James questioned, eyes large._

"_No – well, not really, I mean I was –" Simon turned to an interesting shade of red._

"_Conversing with stationary?" I suggested, feeling the corner's of my mouth twist._

"_Well, not really conversing…"_

"_Seeing it can't say anything back?" Thomas inquired, grinning slightly._

"_I – erm – I'm going to see where the others are," he muttered, brushing past us._

"_That's a good idea," James mentioned smirking._

_We had the decency to wait till he was out of reach before bursting out laughing._

۞

_Really, somewhere we all understand Simon. We will all tease hi__m mercilessly with it, of course – but, still, we understand. Therefore I was reluctant to trust this to paper. Others might be less understanding._

_Anyway, I will have to start with my Event. It is an Event that is necessary to describe, and thus I will do it.__ It happens between John and Matthias' chapters._

_The Last Supper._

۞

"Where are we going?" Mary asked, following Peter down a small street from a higher situated market place.

"Down," Simon said helpfully.

"Thank you." Mary rolled her eyes.

"You're spending far too much time around Judas," chuckled Bartholomew, nudging Simon.

A sudden silence fell, as Bartholomew realized his mistake and flushed. "Sorry," he muttered, as Simon stared at the ground.

Truth be told, it wasn't going well with Judas. For some time now he had been acting very strange. Away with the witty remarks, the snide comments and the ironic compliments. His irresistible charm had disappeared, as had his notorious smirk and annoying self-confidence. It had started, I believe, just after entering Jerusalem, but it had happened so gradual that it was hard to pinpoint the exact moment. Over the two weeks we had been in the capital city, he had lessened his participation to the evening's discussion until he had stopped talking at all. Every night he had shrunk away more from the fire until he was completely covered by the dark. He didn't hear or ignored people who tried to talk to him. He never showed up when Jesus talked to the mob, but spent all his time somewhere else, nobody knew why or where. We only saw him in the evenings, just like Jesus, who had also taken the habit to disappear in the daylight. The only thing that had remained to help us all remember this was still Judas, was the frightening ease and absolute control he had over his movements.

Simon was taking it very hard and had once almost shouted at Jesus when the last had refused to 'the fuck _do_ something about it!' But nobody was taking it very well. It was difficult to suddenly miss Judas' cheeky, energetic appearance and not even Mary seemed to be glad to be finally rid of him. And Jesus' stubborn 'no' to everything we suggested he could perhaps do was frustrating us to no end.

_Why_ he refused to help the man that had helped him for three years nobody knew. They had had no quarrel we knew of and even a row had never stopped Jesus before from being there when Judas needed him. Not that Jesus looked very healthy either. All his gestures were listless and tired, as if a simple wave of his hand was enough to drive him to fatigue.

"I think he's going mad," Simon muttered, and for a moment I thought he meant Jesus. "When he came back last night, you were all asleep already. He… he didn't react when I spoke at first, and then he just stared at me and then he suddenly asked if I had ever thought about killing myself before." Simon shivered. "And he stressed the before, you know, like I was thinking about… _suicide_ at that moment."

"And what did you say?" John asked softly.

"Well, I said of course that I had never thought about it and certainly never would," Simon resumed in a hollow tone. "He… he just started laughing and then he suddenly stopped like he realized I was serious. And then he said that I sure was a lucky man. I was getting really scared by then" – though Simon had once boasted that he never was afraid, nobody said a word – "and I told him to get some sleep. He just looked at me and then said that death doesn't sleep. 'But do go to sleep yourself,' he said, 'there's no need for the ones who are not damned to stay awake'. And then he just left again. I wanted to follow him, but you know how he is, I lost him already after a couple of streets."

We were silent again as we went down, to the Garden of Gethsemane, where we would spend the night. Then – "What do you think actually happened last night between them?" Matthew wondered whispering. We had all taken the habit of speaking very quietly and with many glances sideways, like naughty children afraid to get caught. "I mean, between Jesus and Judas?"

Last night Judas had spoken again, for the first time, if I remember well, that week. It had gone so far with him already that he hid his face from the glow of the fire, where he sat as far from as possible. We too spent all our nights in silent, sitting round the fire till one of us couldn't cope anymore with the tension and stood up to go to bed. Then we all would rise and leave, happy to go, even if it was to lie awake.

So because of the silence that hung around us all, we could very well hear the dry sob that came from behind Judas' hands, which covered his features. We all sat motionless, gazing at the dark heap that once had been Judas, disbelieving the sound that had just reached our ears. Jesus' face had whipped up by the noise and his eyes stood concerned, contradicting what he had told us for two weeks now: Judas would get over it, he had to go through this, but it would all be over soon.

As if wanting to confirm that yes, Judas had sobbed, another whimper left his throat. Immediately Jesus stood on his feet and, more imposing than he had been for a long while, thundered with his suddenly very mighty voice: "Leave him alone!" He repeated it over and over while his voice became gentler as he walked closer to his friend. Finally he squinted down and kindly asked Judas if he would please look at him.

Judas' fingers slid down his forehead, over his nose, cheeks and past his mouth, revealing what none of us had noticed due to the lack of light every time we saw him: Judas had become a poor sight indeed, with gaunt cheeks, chapped lips and haunted eyes.

"What happened to my horse?" he asked, and immediately his hand slammed against his mouth, trying to stop the begging note that had crept into his once so scornful voice. "Where – is… it?" he inquired, now speaking more slowly to make sure no weakness would be shown.

"In your bag, like always," Jesus informed him, and I wondered which horse could possibly fit in a bag – but that didn't matter right now, and I concentrated on the conversation, ignoring that it was probably not meant for our ears.

"Who – broke it?"

Jesus stared for a moment at him. "You did," he said finally.

"I did," Judas repeated and laughed. "I break everything, don't I?"

Jesus hesitated, but then reached out a hand – and to my uttermost surprise, Judas leaned forward and pressed his cheek against Jesus' palm, closing his eyes. "Enough for tonight, don't you think?" Jesus said quietly and Judas nodded in consent, still not opening his eyes or withdrawing. "You know, if you drink wine, you really should use more water – and you certainly shouldn't drink on an empty stomach."

If he had heard a sword sweep through the air (2), Judas could not have been more shocked. He jerked away from the touch as if burned and stuttered, not caring about the panic in his voice: "What are – what are you talking about?"

Jesus hadn't even opened his mouth yet to answer when he sprung to his feet and made his getaway.

Nobody answered Matthew's question

۞

It was Pesach, the celebration of the return of Moses and the Jewish people out of the desert (3), but in the Garden of Gethsemane, there wasn't much to celebrate. We all sat around the table Peter and I had constructed, the traditional feast of bread and water standing ready. We had been sitting here quietly for ten minutes already, waiting for Jesus to say the usual blessing.

Jesus, however, was sitting silently, staring at his hands. Judas sat on his left side, drawing lines on the wood of the table. John, who was on Jesus' other side, the others and I all sat fidgeting, waiting for someone, anyone, to say something.

Jesus shook his head, as if wanting to shake himself awake, and stood up. "We thank thee, o Lord," he started and then stopped. "For your blessings, we thank thee…" he tried, but again fell silent. "It's no use," he murmured, shaking his head anew. He tilted his head and looked at us all, deep in our eyes, and like the first time I had met him, I felt my soul being searched. "If this bread was my body," he gestured to the lump of food that lay before him, "would you eat it? If this water was my blood, would you drink it?" He didn't wait for our reply, but instead turned to his left. "I'm sorry, Judas," he said with a helpless little laugh. "But I just can't go on with this façade. I'm far too tired." A hand passed over a brow. "Please leave," he sighed and walked away from the table.

"What are you talking about?" Judas whispered, staring at his friend like he saw him for the first time.

Jesus meanwhile, had completed his journey around the table and stood before Judas, separated by the table. "Please don't Judas. I said I was tired of it. Just go and get them."

"I won't." I felt a gush of wind as he also walked around the table and passed me. "I won't – I'm staying here. I don't – want to."

I had a sense of déjà-vu. This all reminded me of a Greek play I had seen as a child. I don't remember what was said, I don't even remember what it was about, but I do remember the awe of the small child I had been, in the audience, unable to tear my gaze away from the delicate movements of the two people on stage (4).

The two half outreached hands Judas had lifted; the gush of wind Jesus' clothes made as he turned away; the trembling hands that half covered the mouth that had exclaimed, almost inadvertently: "Judas, for God's sake, go!"; the quivering fists Judas' hands made as his breathes became ragged; the apologizing fingers which stretched out the same plea as the eyes and the half whispered "Judas…"; and the sudden depart of the antagonist, jaw clenched and eyes blazing.

Jesus turned his gaze to the ground and took a deep breath. "Peter…" His voice sounded neutrally yet very shallow. "And the Boanerges… would you please come with me? The others… please stay here. And keep an eye on each other."

The three of us stood up and followed our leader deeper into the Garden. At an open space, Jesus stopped and started pacing.

"Jesus, what's going on?" The sudden sharpness in Peter's voice surprised me.

Jesus halted. "Something inevitable, Peter." He sounded undone. "I – I asked you three to come with me… because I just… cannot be alone right now. I cannot. And I know that you," – he looked at us sternly – "will, if you promise me that, do nothing, whatever happens."

We all must've looked not very willing for he repeated his request. "Promise me you will not act, whatever happens."

Reluctantly we agreed and he nodded rapidly. "Good. Please – please wait here with me."

"For what?" John asked.

Jesus looked away, to the trees. "For Judas," he said finally.

While he sank on his knees and started praying in his hands, we all sat down, our back against the bark of a tree. I remember not really much – only how I needed to shift a bit to make myself a bit more comfortable, and how I thought for a moment that there had to be something Jesus was not telling us – and the next thing I knew, Jesus was shaking my and Peter's shoulders, saying our names loudly, with a frantic note: "Simon! James! Please wake up, please!"

"Huh? What –" I started and sat up straight.

"I'm sorry, Jesus," John said drowsy. "We must've fallen asleep."

Jesus nodded quickly. "It's okay. Just –" He stopped abruptly and looked to a spot behind us. "Oh God…" I heard him moan. I quickly scrambled to my feet, meanwhile looking over my shoulder.

There stood Judas, clothes dishevelled and hair tangled, also halting when he caught his friend's eyes. Jesus slowly came to his feet. "No time for remorse, I see," he remarked. Surprised I turned to him. All of a sudden he seemed much calmer, almost relieved.

Judas stirred, moving closer and closer to his friend. He passed us, not seeming to see us. He looked downright frightening. John started, but Peter stopped him. "Don't," he muttered. "Remember our promise." I nodded and we all stood back in the shadows.

The two players met each other in the middle of the stage.

"Jesus," the antagonist murmured and pressed his lips hard against the protagonist's.

When he let go, the other gave a sorrowful smile. "You could have picked any way," he said friendly.

Something seemed to snap in the antagonist. "It's going to be alright," he said, begging his opponent for consent.

the protagonist slowly shook his head. "You _know_ it won't, Judas," he chided his friend gently.

At that moment the choir, that had been hidden by the impending darkness, stepped forward.

"Jesus of Nazareth, we are here to arrest you," one of the members said.

* * *

(1) No, you dolts! This was an _example_!

(2) I could've used "like a bolt from the blue", but I actually wanted to use "as if he had heard a gunshot", but guns didn't exist in that time, so I made my own comparison. Heh.

(3) Really!

(4) A Greek play existed out of a protagonist (aka good guy), an antagonist (aka bad guy) and a choir. There's no scenery. The protagonist and antagonist talk and the choir takes all the other roles. Seeing most people sat fairly far away from the actual play, the actors wore big masks with typical facial expressions. It would be very normal that the expression of the hands was also very important. Or we have a small child with a bright observation. Or a very silly author.

Righto... Not really as much jokes as usual... Very little actually... Oh, sue me, I liked writing it!


	16. Bartholomew

**Disclaimer:** nikki whaka fúk. Lalza pirtyk wheriyà.

**Author's note:** I know, I know, times ago I updated! I apologize very profoundly, but you shouldn't complain so much! After all, I'm neglecting my other story to write this chappy for you. So stop the whining. Tsk, tsk! Waves with her index finger at the screen and pokes herself by accident in the eye

Anyhoo, do not shoot the careless author! For she will become a foul ghost that will haunt you and that you cannot ever take out in public, for she speaks Gibberish and dances on the table while singing "Pie! Pie! I love my Pie!"

Thou art warned.

Thanks to Shire Cat, Jinace ( twice, for she got my lazy behind moving) and the anonymous guy who left that nice review. I tried to contact the weirdo who seemed for a moment to stalk me and then refused to answer my messages (I thought for a moment I was popular! Damn it!), but well, he refused to answer my messages (this last piece I wrote sounds familiar... I wonder why…). You know how it goes. After all, he isn't the only one who doesn't want to talk to me. sigh Maybe I should stop singing randomly. But what's left of the fun in life then?

If you wanna see a WICKED good Judas in JCS, check out the link to my profile page on YouTube on ffnet account - the guy rocks! He's between my favos.

* * *

_Hello,_

_I'm Bartholomew. And if you feel the need to be funny and use that stupid abbreviation Iscariot always –_

"_I still say mine was far more painful. I mean, have you any idea how long it takes before you die on that cross? And then I'm not talking about the heat, the flies, the thirst…"_

"_Still, you can't deny that getting beaten up with a club and getting stones thrown at your head is very nice either. I think mine was worse."_

"_Do you mind?" Andrew interrupts Thaddaeus and James, his cousin. "I'm trying to eat. Leave the vivid descriptions."_

"_You're always trying to eat," I remark. "That's not really an extraordinary feat. But what the hell were you two discussing? It sounded rather morbid."_

_We are sitting in our very own Apostle Room. Everyone is here, except for those who aren't. And then I mean Jesus (who left again after giving me this little book), James (son of Zebedee) and Thomas. Don't ask me where they are though. I'm not a nurse maid._

"_Who died in the most painful way," John interjects. He's looking rather pale around his nose._

_Mary looks disgusted. "That's revolting!"_

"_That's what I said too," Andrew says smugly. Then he turns to me. "And why does everyone always complain about my eating habits?"_

"_Do you want the long list or the short one?" Phillip asks dryly from the canopy, his head bowed over a novel._

"_Shut up, Phillip, I didn't ask you."_

"_No, you asked Bartholomew," Matthew observes in that irritating, know-it-all way of his._

"_King of the obvious, really."_

"_I thought that was James the Younger," Simon says, blinking._

"_Hey!"_

"_You're right," Peter replies, raising an eyebrow._

"_Hey!" Now James turns to where Peter is sitting._

"_How about making James Queen of the Obvious then?" Simon inquires, grinning widely. "That title isn't taken yet, and then Andrew's King."_

"_Hey!!" he is almost shouting now._

"_I reject that," Peter intervenes. He winks in Mary's direction. "It's an insult to the feminine sex."_

"_He-hey!" James ends desperately while Mary starts to laugh._

"_Very articulate, really, Mr the Younger," Matthew smirks. At least, I think it's a smirk. Matthew isn't really good in looking smug without looking ridiculous._

"_Quiet, Matthew. Plus, you stole that line from Iscariot," James pouts._

"_I didn't steal it. I'm leaning it without mentioning it to the true owner."_

"_That's also one of Judas's," Peter smiles, while Simon folds his hands behind his head, still grinning._

"_Oh, shut up."_

۞

_Anyway, seeing it was mentioned in one of the earlier Events, I thought it might be nice if I talked about __something that happened the day before the wedding of Jesus' sister. It takes place after Phillip's (well, duh, it would be something if we went to a wedding while we weren't even invited yet) and before Thomas' Event._

۞

"So, what do you think?" Susanna asked, while twirling on the spot, so her white dress fluttered in every direction.

Jesus looked up and smiled widely. "You're looking beautiful."

We were sitting in the backyard of the small house that belonged to Jesus' mother, Mary, and where also little Judas lived with Susanna. At least, she would sleep here her last time tonight: after that she would go and live with her then husband Jeremiah, in a house not far away. Apparently all Jesus' family members lived close to their mother and they all came over almost every single day, seeing the widow had no means of supporting herself and her youngest son.

It was very hot, but luckily the Joseph family, as they were apparently called in the village, had a huge date tree in their yard. Most of us sat beneath it – except for John, James and Andrew, who had climbed in the tree and were now helping little Judas up, under the watchful eye of his older sister (I've forgotten her name right now). Her young baby, called Matthias, was sitting in Jesus' lap. Thomas, who used to have a kitchen garden himself, was studying the little bed. The more you went away from the house, the more the rock and desert took over and twenty feet further you'd die of thirst.

On our arrival that afternoon, only the two sisters and one brother had been in the house. Jesus' mother was apparently supervising something ("Trust me," Jesus' brother (whose name slipped out my mind the moment he introduced himself) had said before he left, "you don't wanna argue with _her_.") and the other brothers were visiting the groom-to-be. Susanna had immediately dragged Mary away in the house, along with some friends of her. First though, they had all stared at us for some time and now and then erupted in giggles. Matthew had assured us we did not want to know what they were talking about. But now Susanna had come out of the house, showing her wedding dress, which, I must say, looked wonderful.

"Don't you all agree?" Mary said with sparkling eyes. "She looks astounding."

"What do you think, Judas?" Susanna quipped, turning to the dark man who was lying languidly in the sun, eyes closed.

Phillip had already mentioned to us Jesus' youngest sister was a brave girl, but he hadn't mentioned the fact that she wasn't nervous around Judas at all. To make it all even more unbelievable, she seemed to like him too.

"Brilliant," Judas murmured, not looking.

She pouted. "You're not watching!"

One of her friends with a freckle on her nose clicked her tongue. "Is he always that rude?"

"Most of the time," Matthias said enthusiastically. I think he meant to be dry, but he failed utterly. He had come with us on Jesus' request and he seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes were shining and even James could sit still longer than him.

Judas sighed, opened his eyes, slowly sat up straight and eyed Susanna quizzically. "Well, it's good… I guess."

"You guess?" Susanna repeated, sounding slightly outraged.

"I don't know a lot about dresses," he explained, still looking hesitantly. "I never wear them myself. But –" he turned to the tree – "Andrew there –"

"Judas! You dirty –" Andrew started, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of laughter from Simon. Susanna had also started laughing, hand clasped over her mouth, and even her friends joined in with giggles. Peter was looking amused and Jesus, who normally only smiled, had thrown his head back and laughed out loud.

Andrew cursed and seemed to want to wring Judas' neck. In his haste to get down though, he almost fell out of the tree. "Be careful!" Mary called, looking first anxious, but then her lips quirked up and she giggled: to avoid falling, Andrew had thrown arms and legs around the branch he had been sitting on, and now he comically hung upside-down, too afraid to let go and unable to get back up. Still, his quite absurd position didn't stop him from cursing Judas and making up morbid activities for what would happen if he ever got out that tree. Then Jesus looked severely at him, so he lowered his voice to a soft, swearing mutter.

"He's never gonna get married, if he acts like that," Jesus' older sister quipped. (Damned, what was her name? I've always been horrible in remembering something so trivial, but this goes a bit too far. This is already the second one! But I do remember Susanna's. Maybe because she talked the most.) It was hard to say whether she meant Andrew or Judas.

"Yes, don't you dare to make an example of him, darling brother," Susanna said, one hand on her hip and wriggling her index finger at her younger brother in the tree, who was clapping gleefully in his hands as John and James tried to help the unfortunate Andrew back up. Jesus had explained the condition of his younger brother to us all, and though it was very hard to see, you could notice little Judas was not of the age he appeared to be. His jaw was a bit too set, his chest a little too broad – he was more of the stocky type – and his arms were a little longer than a ten-year old boy's should be. But it was easy to ignore. So easy, that we all had no difficulties treating him like the young boy he actually was.

Little Judas made an uncontrolled, frightened movement at her words and almost fell out of the tree. John let go of Andrew to catch him, who dramatically waved with his free hand in the air. James lost balance, as he was the only one supporting Andrew's entire weight, and let go of Andrew's hand, who now waved with both his arms in the air, as if he hoped he would fly away, and then managed to throw them back around the branch, so he was back in the exact same position as when they started. "Why do we have to get married?" little Judas asked, fear evident on his face. "I don't want to get married! I mean –" he turned to the older Judas. "Do you want to get married?"

"Not if I can help it," his older namesake grinned up.

"There," little Judas said satisfied, as John put him back and James restarted his attempts to help Andrew back up. "Besides, it isn't like we did anything wrong." Then he sat down at the exact same spot, thanked John, and smugly looked around.

۞

In the end, all the apostles had to help Andrew down. Even Matthew helped, though he whined about Andrew's weight. Simon suggested to try and find out where Andrew was ticklish ("When he falls down we've found it!") but I said I had no desire whatsoever to touch Andrew more than was required and it was left at that.

When Mary, Jesus' mother, arrived, we dined with her, Susanna and little Judas: Jesus' other brothers all had a wife and children to go to. Simon (! I remember the name!) had brought his little one over, who had been born three weeks ago. According to Mary (not Jesus' mother – I'm starting to have objections to the unoriginality of my people, which seems to oblige them to name all children after each other), the baby was adorable – it just looked little and brown to me. I didn't say that out loud though – Susanna's friends were still around and they were already looking at Andrew in a very peculiar way. Also, Jesus' oldest sister (no, I don't remember hers. I don't do miracles) had left for her house: she had, after all a child and a husband to take care of.

Jesus' mother cooked (she had insisted and seeing otherwise it would've been Matthew, no one protested), but when she came outside (there simply wasn't place enough for all of us inside) and she and her daughter wanted to serve us, Jesus stopped her.

"Don't mother," he said firmly. "You will be serving and standing aside tomorrow enough." (1)

"Joshua –" she started frowning, but he interrupted her.

"Mary always eats with us. You can do exactly the same. Besides, we never did that unless there were guests."

"There are guests now."

"No," he replied, "only family."

"I did this for your father."

"And even then you went to sit beside him when you had served him. Plus, we're all comfortable with it."

"Give this to me, miss, will you," Peter said with his deep, soothing voice, and Susanna handed him the dish she had been carrying. "It's no problem at all. We're all quite used to it." And he passed the plate around.

"It's really no big deal, ma'am," Judas added, as he got up and walked to Jesus' mother. "Though a few of us are quite clumsy, we don't drop plates." He reached out to the dish; she looked at him and, without a word, as if she was mesmerized, handed him the food.

Some of us in the circle (we always sit in a circle for one reason or another) had their mouth hanging open, and though I was tempted for a moment to join them, I kept mine closed. I only stared at Judas, surprised. What he had said was not that remarkable, certainly not for him – he hadn't even been able to leave the insult away – but his voice had been undeniably gentle and, without the sneer, I suddenly noticed his voice was more than pleasant – a rich, vibrating melodious sound, that seemed to doubt between an intimate song and a soothing murmur.

Mary sat down between her daughter and her youngest son, who had been completely oblivious to the event and had kept up his insane pace of chattering to Phillip.

"After a while, I found my voice back. "James, would you be so kind to close your mouth? There's a draft."

۞

The meal was quite pleasant. Everybody – even Simon – managed to behave himself. Mary seemed to flourish during her conversation with Susanna – which once again contained much giggling. Little Judas divided all his attention between babbling away against everyone who sat too close and harassing his oldest brother. Jesus himself didn't seem to mind that – I think I would've gone insane after two minutes. Jesus' mother chatted with Jesus and Peter.

After dinner though, things changed a bit: Jesus' sister and his brother James joined us. Although the girl was very quiet and calm and only now and then joined in the conversation going on between Mary and Susanna, the brother was far less pleasant to be around. Most of the time he just regarded us all with a look of disdain and gave clipped answers to questions of his mother and family.

When we all had finished and cleaned up, everyone except Jesus, Mary and Judas went to set up a camp. We had huge trouble shaking off our pursuer, little Judas, who didn't want us to leave and almost started to cry (though he denied fiercely he had tears in his eyes) until Mary offered to take him to bed with Susanna. At this announcement, his entire face brightened, he gave a squeal and pulled her away.

We set up camp at the other side of a hill, which seemed to hesitate between a more mountain like view or being just a rise in the scenery. When we had finished, we voted and I was the unlucky one who had to climb back all the way to tell those who were still at the house where we were.

When I arrived at the house, Jesus was talking to his mother, while Lisa (! Applause, please!), Judas and that James stood aside. Seeing I didn't want to interrupt their conversation, I crept to Judas. "We're over that hill. You can't see it on this side."

He nodded and motioned me to be silent, as Jesus' mother continued: "I'm really sorry for that, but there just isn't enough room."

"Mother," Jesus smiled. "We never expected you to accommodate thirteen men and a woman."

"Why you would want them around anyway is a mystery to me, mother," James said with his cold voice.

She lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sure a lot is a mystery to you, James, darling."

"They're dangerous," James snapped. "You shouldn't be with them, Joshua. You belong with your family."

"They are my family," Jesus answered calmly.

"And your followers. But they don't follow your directions, do they?" James said nastily. "Why do they carry weapons, Joshua, while you're so very anti-violence?"

I frowned. "Only one of us does."

"Yes." He eyed Judas. "Your _watchdog_. Why does he wave a knife around if he doesn't plan to use it?" Judas gazed back at him with the same look James had: as if they saw something so repulsive there wasn't quite a name for it.

"I don't know, James," Jesus replied. "Why do you carry weapons?" James now looked at his brother in disbelief as his female family members turned to him. "You've got a knife tucked under your shirt," Jesus pointed.

I couldn't quite hide my smirk as James went red in the face: now Jesus had drawn my attention to it, I could vaguely see a lump where there shouldn't be one. James though, didn't give up quite that easily. "And then there is that – that – _woman_." He spoke the last word as a curse. "Anyone can see she's a pros –"

"Shut up."

Judas' voice was low and dangerous and made the little hairs down my neck stand up, but Jesus' brother was unfazed. I couldn't quite decide whether he was brave, stupid or just had a death wish. "You'd know that, wouldn't you?" he went on, contempt written all over his face. "Isaiah told me all about you and your mother, slut of the –"

Judas lunged forward and I tried to stop him, though I had no idea how I would do that, and Lisa screamed and Mary gasped – and then Judas was pushing James against the date tree, a slowly squeezing hand around his throat. James coughed and seemed to have real difficulty breathing.

"Oh God, oh God, don't kill him! Do something, Joshua, mother!" Lisa cried, her small eyes now big and her trembling hands before her mouth.

But none of them reacted. Jesus was standing motionless, looking at the scene with an unfathomable expression on his face. Mary was pale and also softly quivering, but she didn't do anything but watch as her son was slowly strangled. And I didn't know what to do. Part of wanted to offer Judas to keep James' arms on his back, which were now waving in the air and trying to hit his assaulter, another part wanted to tear my friend away from the man. I took a step forward and started weakly: "Judas…" but then I fell silent.

James' breathing now turned into a wheeze. The only things that were audible were Lisa's sobs and Judas' erratic breaths. Then he suddenly tore away.

James fell into a little heap on the ground, coughing and gasping. Judas looked down at him and then said in a dreamlike state: "I told you to shut up." He turned around and walked away in the opposite direction of the camp.

Lisa started, tears running down her cheeks, and helped her coughing brother up. "James?" someone said. I turned around. An anxious Susanna stood in the doorway. "What happened?"

"Where's Judas?" Mary asked, appearing behind her. Mary. I felt a sudden warmth at seeing her, the woman who was like a little sister to me, the sweet girl, _our_ girl. She was as much a part of the apostles as Matthew's right foot.

I glared at James, who was leaning heavily on his sister. "That _imbecile_," I snarled, "insulted you and Judas' mother." Mary gasped and Susanna's hand flew to her mouth. Insulting someone's mother is a crime for us, the Jews. If one needs, one can attack the business of his enemy, the background, the place where his opponent lives, his (non-existent) links with the Romans, but you do not touch a mother. It is the lowest thing one can imagine, and James had crossed that invisible border screaming and kicking.

"He is barking mad!" James cried hoarsely, staring vehemently at Judas' retreating back.

"C'mon Mary," I gestured to the girl. "Let's go." She walked forward and took my hand, gazing defensively at Susanna, who was looking wide-eyed from one to the other.

"I think," Jesus' mother said softly, "it's perhaps better if your friend stays away from the party."

Jesus smiled. I was surprised by the honesty and happiness it seemed to radiate. "Perhaps. Till tomorrow, mother." He nodded to them, took Mary's hand and pulled both of us in the direction Judas had disappeared into.

We left them there, James still weighing heavily on his sister, Susanna speechless for the first time since I met her. When I turned my back to them I could hear Mary say, in a very matter-of-fact tone: "James, dear, let's put something on your skin, it's going to look red otherwise. And Susanna don't stare, it's quite rude."

۞

He was sitting on a rock with his hands clasped together, looking as disdainful as ever. If it wasn't for the way he gazed into thin air as a man waiting for his death sentence, I'd have thought there was nothing wrong with him at all.

Jesus released Mary's hand and crouched before him, so they were at eye-level. "Hello, Judas."

Judas avoided his gaze and turned to Mary and me. "Did he say anything to you?" He sounded quite hoarse.

"No," Mary answered immediately. "He was only busy about you."

Judas nodded. "Good." But I didn't see him making eye-contact with her either.

"Judas, would you be so kind as to look at me?" Jesus asked.

With clear reluctance Judas turned back to his friend and looked up. For a moment nothing happened, except that Jesus cocked his head aside as they looked at each other.

"Did she see?" Judas suddenly said quickly, so quickly that I thought for a moment the words had tumbled out without him meaning to.

Jesus shook his head and Judas sighed in relief. "Please make her leave," Judas finally whispered.

"Mary, would you mind returning to the others?"

Mary's eyes widened and I thought for a moment she was going to protest, but then she looked at Judas again, smiled and nodded. She left our side and I came to stand next to Jesus. "Should I go too?" I asked hesitantly.

"No. You can stay." Judas offered me half a smile.

"You protected them," Jesus stated.

The other laughed weakly. "I almost killed that imbecile."

"You protected them."

Judas rubbed his hands together sub-consciously. "He shouldn't talk about _her_ like that," he said flatly. "No one is allowed to talk about her like that." I didn't know whether he meant Mary or his mother and listened on, with mixed feelings.

"Except you then," Jesus added with a smile and he got a crooked one in return. We were silent for a while. I looked at Judas curiously. It was strange – strange for him to protect Mary. He had never allowed anyone to talk about his mother – not that we had wanted to, seeing he always looked ready to commit murder if anyone mentioned her – but I, all of us had always assumed he disliked Mary furiously.

"I suppose it's best if I don't show my face around," Judas murmured finally.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Jesus inquired at the same time as I opened my mouth and heard myself saying: "I'll keep you company."

Jesus looked up surprised, Judas seemed very amused and I found I was grinning like a schoolboy. "Thank you, but I'll be fine," Judas replied as he got to his feet. "Make sure Simon attacks no one. He is quite ready to hammer everyone down who says a word against one of us." He looked at the village and then at Jesus. "They don't like you here, you know," he frowned. "You'd better watch out."

The next moment he had disappeared.

Jesus placed a hand on my shoulder. "Shall we head back to the others?"

۞

"It's bloody dull for a wedding," Simon snapped softly as he looked around angrily.

"I don't like the way they look at us," Matthias muttered.

"I don't like them," I said, staring at my plate.

It was Susanna and Jeremiah's joyful happening, but there was little joy about it. Susanna was the only one who acted cheerful, but there you can underline the "act". She did it with a certain resolution, which spoke more of a no-one-is-going-to-ruin-my-wedding attitude then real merriness. Even little Judas had quietened down under the hostile atmosphere.

We were all sitting at the long tables in the middle of the village square and everyone had shuffled away from our corner. Mary seemed lost and forlorn between Susanna (who had dragged her to her place and had shot murderous looks at anyone who looked at them the wrong way) and Jesus' mother, and though Jesus said between his two brothers Simon and Joseph (who seemed an alright chap), there wasn't much conversation going on. It's good I had remembered Judas' words and had placed myself next to Simon, for Peter and I often had to push him down again when some wedding guest deliberately made an off-hand comment that was meant to insult us.

I put my fork in the lamb, picked it up and put it in my mouth. Though it tasted delicious, I had lost my appetite hours ago and all I wanted was for this wedding reception to be over, so we all could leave and enjoy only the apostles' company again. Even the prospect of Thomas' snoring seemed invitingly.

"They say he walked over _water_," a small man whispered audibly to his neighbour, who softly snickered. "He's too young to sleep without a diaper, for Heaven's sake –"

Simon jumped up, almost throwing me off my seat in the action, but Jesus called: "No, Simon!"

"But – that little sneaky bastard –" Simon spluttered, turning red in fury.

"We're leaving."

That silenced all talking that had still been busy. Jesus stood up and we all followed his example. "We're leaving," Jesus repeated, looking at his family. "Mary, are you coming?"

Mary came to her feet, but Susanna grabbed her arm. "Stay," she pleaded.

"Yes, stay, Joshua," Jeremiah said, also rising. I hadn't even spoken two words to this man, but I _had_ to admire him right then.

"We don't care," Susanna added, furiously looking at all people who still sat. "Stay."

"We're leaving. They don't need to believe us and you can't force them to like us." Jesus turned around, but then his mother rose.

"The wine is gone." The statement was so absurd I thought I had misheard her. She was staring intently at her son, as if she hoped she could burn holes through his clothes with her glittering eyes.

Jesus turned around slowly. "Woman, what have I got to do with you?" He sounded worn out. "We are not family. What have I got to do with you?"

"The wine is gone," she repeated, and apparently I had not been mistaken.

A ghost of a smile swept over Jesus face. "Always have to win, don't you, mother," he murmured wearily.

A hand pointed for a moment in the direction of the water barrels in the corner of the square and then it fell back. "Enjoy yourselves," Jesus whispered, sounding wounded. He took Mary's offered hand and we all walked away from the circle of light the fires made.

When we were just outside the village, there were cries of bewilderment and one was very clear: "Devil's work!"

Simon swore, turned around and would have stormed back if I hand not pulled him back by slamming both my arms around his torso. That was the sign for the tension that had hung in the air to break. James the Younger laughed almost hysterically and James son of Zebedee and Phillip let both out a cry of indignation.

"What happened?" a voice said behind us and Judas appeared. Simon stopped fighting me, so I let go of him and swept the sweat off my face.

"You!" Simon roared and strode to his friend. "Next time when I need to punch some faces you'd better be there and _help_ me!" he seethed. "What are you a damned apostle for otherwise?"

* * *

(1) Notes again! I love a nice note… Hum, yes, what I meant to say is: with the Jews in that time, it was custom for the women to serve the men, stand aside them during the meal and eat after they were finished. I don't know whether that's still the case, though. 

Reviews? It makes the very lazy author get a little less lazy... It won't make me update quicker, but I will feel very good!


	17. Jesus of Nazareth

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. Otherwise David and Goliath would play with the rabbits together, Eve would still be eaten apples with chocolate, Lot's wife would've turned into sugar and Simon would've danced tango!

**Author's note:** Am I not a good little author?! Look, again a new chappie! One I looked forward to writing a lot... I hope you like reading it too! But anyways, thanks to Jinace and lemondropseverus for their reviews, which I dearly love, just like chocolate and peanut butter. Not that I meant to give any hints... (elbows readers)

* * *

_I turn page after page, passing event after event, year after year. __Andrew's illegible account, James the Younger's poor handwriting, Simon's looping words, John's careful and slow writing, Peter's firm style…_

_It makes me feel miserable. I know they all did it because of me and that this is their attempt at help, but it hurts. It hurts and yet fills me with an unexplainable longing. Back to the bloody good old times, as Lucifer would say. Though I did not and do not consider them good. I felt quite the same as I do remembering them now – trying to hold on to every moment and yet thinking with dread of what was to come._

_Death and betrayal. They call Judas a traitor, but I find myself thinking more of me with that particular term than of him. Though no one but me thinks of Jesus Christ as that._

_I am Jesus of Nazareth, pleased to meet you._

_But I was talking of death. My death. Or maybe theirs. Or hers. His. If you insist, I can also talk of yours. All of them are my fault. Well, not all in all my entire fault. I__ shall not be selfish or dramatical. It is not completely my fault. _

_I did not decide that I, they had to die. But I most certainly did not stop it. Not that I didn't try, not that. But I didn't stop it._

۞

_I do not enjoy talking about it. I suppose that __is normal, people not liking to speak about their own cowardice. But I do not want to. I'd rather think of the things that are described in this booklet. Like the others. I watch them sometimes as they read the newest chapter – their face concentrated, now and then the ghost of a smile on their face or even a grin, remembering – _yes that was how it happened, I remember, that was how it was like, that was how it smelled, looked, heard, felt like_. I wonder whether they too feel that stab of desire and pain, somewhere around their stomach while they smile, and whether they feel nauseous as they relive what happened._

_Mary certainly doesn't. Her smile is open as she nods in agreement, whether when reading Peter's words or listening to Matthew. Always open. Judas however, smiled like that even when he was alive. As if remembering and yearning, but yet sickened by the very memory. And then his eyes would be for once empty. No, that's wrong. Eyes are always empty._

_He couldn't see very well, you know. His eyesight was very poor. He couldn't see clearly when more then three feet away and mostly things were just a blur to him. He certainly couldn't distinguish features and I think that if he wanted to read, he would have to bring the page very close to his face. But he recognized everyone. By the way they walked. The way they lifted their hand. Their style of moving. He called it body language._

"Everybody has their own way of moving. It is completely unique and though some people resemble each other very closely, there is always a difference, whether it is the way they hold their head, how their jaw sets or with which leg they start walking." He'd stare at me then, in that way everybody but me thought unnerving. "That's how I recognize them. You. Everyone." He'd lean back and fold his hands behind his head. "Eyes don't say anything. That's bullshit. Crap. Your attitude does. Your smile, your eyebrows and the skin around your eyes does. But eyes themselves don't say a thing. They're just coloured bits of flesh."

_That's what he said, like it had been drilled into him by the rabbi that teaches children our laws and habits. Except then that he spoke with enthusiasm, which no boy that has gotten the Holy Books hit into him will ever have._

_Only he couldn't explain to me why his eyes, if they were only coloured bits of flesh, had flames in them. He persisted that I had to be wrong, but I was certain: every time I saw him, his eyes were burning._

۞

_I had waited for him with a morbid curiosity, a horrified kind of anger. The bringer of my death warrant. My _living_ death warrant. I wondered whether I'd hate him, whether the others would hate him. Would he be unpleasant to be around? Too keen, too cold, too hostile, too scheming? Would I have to convince the others to allow him to stay? I exhausted myself with these inner questions, lying awake night after night._

_I should have known better than to underestimate my Father. My thoughts proved to be futile and unnecessary. He _was_ cold and could be very unpleasant. Some would call him too keen. Hostile he was, oh yes. But none of my friends needed convincing or hated him. Nor did I._

_I already knew when I looked at him in our camp, that very first time I laid my eyes on him, that he would make it hard for me. That continuing to carry on would be almost impossible. But I never hated him._

_What I had to do would have been far easier if he and Mary hadn't been there. If Mary hadn't smiled that open smile every time she looked at me. If she hadn't sat and walked next to me for almost three years. If he hadn't seemed to soften every time he looked at me and tried to hand me something edible. If he hadn't sat up with me so many times when I didn't want to sleep, couldn't face sleep, couldn't dream the plagued nightmares. We'd talk. Smalltalk and philosophic discussions. About everything._

"Judas?" I say, trying to pry my weary eyes open.

"Hmm?" he murmurs, his voice deep and sleepy.

"How do you know when you're in love?"

"You're in love?" He sits up straighter and his dark eyes widen, eyelids flying higher.

"No. But how do you know?"

He slumps back, head bobbing slowly; trying to relocate the comfy position he was in a moment earlier. His head shifts in my direction a bit. "Feet," he mutters.

"What?" A tired laugh escapes me.

"Feet," he repeats. "They're the ugliest bit of a human's body. Warts, little wounds, hair, callosity… All there. If you can bare the thought of someone's feet, you'll get along with the rest of the person as well."

I smile. "You're kidding me."

"Never," he insists, already half asleep. "I tell you, it's the damned truth."

"You just want to make me laugh."

"Always," he murmurs, too tired to realize what he is saying, not knowing he is inch by inch uncovering his carefully hidden and protected soul. "Always trying. Very difficult though. You're very difficult to let laugh…" His head begins making its way down. He doesn't seem able to stop or realize it. "Is that even correct grammatically? Matthew shall have my head…"

My smile broadens. "Don't worry. Grammatically, you're safe with me; I'll make sure Matthew won't lay a finger on you."

"I like you grammatically." His voice is so deep, so sleepy, everything he manages to utter a slur, tied together. "And laughingly. Elderly or youngerly. Any age. Tellingly like this. And – and in other ways…In any way…" And then he actually falls asleep, his head uncomfortably propped up against a tree.

_Afterwards he would feel sorry for having told me that much, though he knew I would never exploit or tell anyone else what he had told me. Yet he somehow needed to get even with me then. Mostly by being rude to me, like the night he roughly remarked they said I was a Greek bastard. __I replied calmly my mother had indeed been raped before my birth by a Greek soldier so that in theory, I could be a half Greek. However, it was impossible to know for certain, for my daddy married her anyway and did not look at the ceiling during their wedding night. He looked suspiciously at me for a moment and then started laughing. _

_I can hear him laughing again, as if he is here right now, softly, unobtrusively at first, the sound growing louder and louder until it is impossible for me not to join him and I chuckle in an empty room._

۞

_I stopped writing for a couple of days, not even daring to look or think of this book. Yet I caught myself wondering what I would write more and which event I would choose. And I do not know. The others all had a moment which was meaningful to them, alm__ost a sign. I don't, and if I do, I don't want to remember._

_I reread what the apostles and I have written up till now, and I want to state one thing very clearly: I am not like they described me. The last thing I am is innocent. Seeing they all say it, I suppose I will look sad, and I am. I am hurt, yes. But that is nothing next to the sadness and hurt I have caused._

_My Father used me to gain control over humanity. I have never created a world, so I don't know whether that itself is satisfactory enough. Maybe it is that tough a job He wanted more recognition for it. I wouldn't know._

_But are all these deaths necessary? Do women have to suffer when they put a child on this world? And does the child have to suffer again? People all assume God is all-powerful, so that He doesn't make mistakes. But we have no world to compare this one with, so how are we to know he didn't do anything wrong?_

_The death of Jesus Christ resulted into millions of martyrs__ and deaths, eight crusades and countless excuses for crimes. I have known that since I was eleven and I knew it for twenty-two years. I knew when Esther died Peter would go to Rome. I knew when Mary turned up that her life would be miserable after my death. I knew Judas would hang himself after turning me in._

_It is not easy fighting against God. I can say that and I don't think anyone can argue against it. But somewhere I believe there must have been a way I didn't see, a path I didn't take which might have saved them. It is easy to think you have no choice. So you see, the problem is this: I still haven't figured out whether I didn't see that solution on purpose._

۞

I leant back against the tree, far enough from the camp so I would bother no one by my current insomnia. My dreams of this week all went about my daddy. I saw him falling, tumbling over the edge of the roof every night. I now and then managed to catch two to three hours sleep without dreams, but even so, I felt exhausted and had the distinct feeling somebody was having a lot of fun hitting my head with a sledgehammer.

I saw a shadow moving through the path of the moonbeams and frowned for a moment, wondering who would be up at this hour. I tried to listen if I could discern the person by the sound of his footsteps, but I didn't hear anything. "Judas?"

The shadow stopped. "How d'ye know t'was me?" a voice said gruffly. I smiled. No matter how rude he had sounded, I had heard an undercurrent of gentleness.

"I didn't hear anything. The others make noise when they walk." He was carrying his satchel over his shoulder and seemed to be all packed for leaving, but he didn't. He stood there, awkward like a schoolboy, while the moonlight showed his dark face to me. "Are you going away?" I was surprised at how disappointed I sounded.

"Yep." Over the month he had stayed with us, his sentences had gradually become longer and more complicated, but now it seemed like he had fallen back in his old, short speech.

"I had hoped you'd stay longer." I forced a smile on my face. This was the man who would be responsible for my death. That clenching feeling in the gut wasn't there. I was not going to miss him. "Still, it's a big world out there, right?"

He looked up at the sky. "Immense," he stated, though I didn't know whether he meant the ancient world or the even older sky. Then he looked at me again and the corner of his mouth twisted. As if it was completely involuntary, he came to sit down beside me. "Why're you awake?"

I shrugged. "I don't like sleeping." When he held his head a bit to the side, I added: "Nightmares." He nodded. "May I know why you are leaving?"

The corner of his mouth twisted again, like a spasm. For a moment I thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he blurted out: "I like them."

"Who?" I eyed him as he looked away.

"Peter. Simon. John. James. Phillip. Andrew." He hesitated for a moment and then said, very softly: "You."

"And that's why you leave?"

He nodded and continued, almost ashamed: "Never liked anyone before. Ain't nice when you start doing it accidentally."

"Surely you have liked someone before."

He brusquely shook his head. "Wouldn't survive otherwise. If you thought people –" his voice hatched and we sat in silence again, though I could feel he wanted to talk, wanted me to talk.

"My daddy," I said, not really wanting to tell it but feeling the words slide off my tongue as if I didn't have any control about it. For a second I thought my Father was speaking through my mouth again, but I couldn't detect His presence nearby and, besides, it felt totally different then when He did that normally. "My daddy," I repeated, feeling his eyes burn their way through my skin, in my skull, through every thought I ever thought, every image I ever imagined, every feeling I ever felt and still going on, with an insatiable hunger. "He was a carpenter. I normally would have been one too. But he fell off a roof. Broken back. I saw him fall. He was bound to die, but he lasted still an entire week." I could see him there lying again, in a puddle of blood. "I remember James or Joseph standing aside me, eyes wide and holding the wild cat he had found with both hands, even though the creature screeched loudly in protest. I can even recall where all the little wounds and scratches on his arms were. But I don't know anymore whose roof it was he was repairing. Funny, how the human mind works." I couldn't help laughing.

Judas was still looking at me, almost greedy. "A week?" His voice was quiet, tender, like the wild cat once my brother had given him to me.

I leant back, eyes closed. "Yes. We couldn't move him in fear of hurting him. He lay there whole the time, now and then conscious. We fed him, but sometimes there was blood coming out of his mouth. At the end, he still was breathing, but also asleep in one way or another. Mother made me kiss his forehead. I didn't want to. He had been lying there the entire week, there were insects crawling on him. We tried to chase them away, but well, there were simply too many. The last time he had been awake, he had cried all the time and begged us to kill him because the pain was too much. I did give him a kiss in the end, but I kept on thinking that he wasn't my daddy, that he was far from the man that was once my daddy. Somewhere during the next night, he died." I was silent for a moment. "I really do believe it was James. He always wanted a pet, but the animals never liked him for one reason or another."

We were silent together and I felt rather well. It kind of shocked me: I hadn't felt this good in weeks. But I felt energetic, awake. Somehow I knew something had happened, that I had made an irreversible action and that there would be a reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

"My father also died," Judas began, as if feeling obliged to share now I had shared with him. I opened my eyes again and looked at him as he gazed at me. "I guess I was four. Got bitten by a snake. Stupid. I remember he was always deathly afraid of drowning, and then he got killed by poison." For a moment the ghost of a twisted, bitter smile appeared. "Anyway, my mother became –" he stopped and took a deep breath before continuing ruthlessly, loudly, as if wanting to defy me – "she was the village whore. Had about everyone in her bed." His voice started to sound tonelessly, mechanically. "I could hear those pigs screaming in the other room. Greasy smiles, thick fingers, vapid eyes. I hated them. Though I never blamed her for their visits. When I was smaller, I adored her. I was convinced she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that my father would return someday and everything would be perfect. Bubbles," he put his index finger and thumb together so they made a little round, "burst, however." His index finger flew upwards and I could hear a soft _tick_. He was silent and then said, his voice softly quivering, "she broke my horse."

"Your horse?"

"I had made a small wooden horse for her. Nothing special really, quite ugly to be honest." He seemed to recover a bit and sounded more amused, more like himself. "She threw it away. The ear broke. Afterwards I snapped it in two." He shrugged and had stopped looking at me.

Something had dawned on me, when I had been listening to him, and I started laughing. He glared at me and I stopped and apologized. "It is just that I – well, life sort of sucks, doesn't it?" I continued, merriment still evident in my voice.

He stared at me and I thought he would proclaim me mad, but then he started chuckling and not soon after that we had both tears in our eyes and my cheeks hurt from smiling. When we had calmed down, he stared at me again, but now more calm, more satisfied. Realizing you have desperation in common is perhaps not the best way to become someone's best friend, but with us it surely worked.

"Talk some more," he said abruptly and I obliged.

I told him the story of Elijah and the scholar who had walked for days and knocked on a poor couple's door for hospitality. It is a story rabbis tell to show the mercy of God. Elijah and the scholar get to sleep in the couple's bed, even though that means the old man and woman would have to sleep in the cowshed. They get bread, cheese and milk, which is not much, but all the couple has at that moment. When they wake up, they learn the only cow of the family has died. This means poverty and hunger for the elders.

Elijah and the scholar proceed and ask the next evening again for hospitality in the nearby house. This time it is a very wealthy man who opens the door, and he gives them nothing to eat but water and dry bread, while he has more than he could possibly eat for dinner. They get to sleep in the stable, which is made of stone, but still anything but comfortable, especially because there's a grand hole in the wall that the rich man has to fix the next day. In the morning, Elijah thanks the wealthy man and even closes the hole in the wall for him. When they depart again, the scholar asks Elijah while he helped the man and not the couple. Elijah smiles and tells the scholar that that night, the woman had been the one destined to die, but God had decided to spare her and take the cow instead. And below the wall of the rich man, there was gold, which would have surely been discovered if someone else had closed it. The scholar understands now and praises the Lord. (1)

I asked Judas what he thought about it. "Seems to me," he said finally after a silence, "that he'd better had collected the gold himself and given it to that poor family."

I smiled. "I didn't think of that at that time; but I did ask the rabbi why God made the poor cow die. Couldn't He be satisfied with the idea they had done a good deed?" I paused. "Well, I couldn't sit anymore for days. That rabbi could hit pretty hard for such an old man."

Judas stared at me and also smiled widely, more widely than ever before. Of that night I remember that the clearest, his eyes staring and his mouth smiling while we quietly sat until morning.

* * *

(1) Thanks to T.H. White for this story. It is the one Merlin tells Artur in his _Arthur, The Once And Future King_.

Right, dearies of mine, you know the drill! Push on the purple button!


	18. Judas of Iscariot

**Disclaimer:** Not in a million years, darlings.

**Author's Note:** My PC had decided it had enough of life and crashed, so that explains my temporary absence. Forgive me!

Thanks to Jinace for her reviews. These are the last chapters, love. I will miss you dearly.

* * *

(_"Once upon a time two royal children each had the other's heart. They couldn't be with one another. Deep waters held them apart. My love, come and swim to me, thus said the maiden so fair. I'll put a candle by the window and I'll await you there. He never arrived by the castle. The sea took him away. The candle burnt up in the morning, but she still waits for him today."_ Laughing dark lustrous eyes; a beautiful, singing voice; a perfume like a hot summer day; a soft smile on the lips of a young girl that steps from behind the tree, black lustrous curls and a red dress screaming at me.)

"Hey, you."

...

Who is you?

(_"What are you doing?" _I scream at him, wrestling the knife from his hand. _"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_)

"Mate? You awake?"

I open my eyes. My forehead is resting against… against my knees. "Lucifer." My voice sounds raspy, even to my ears. How long ago is it that I've talked? I don't remember. But that is not worrisome. There are a lot of things I don't remember nowadays. The clue is: don't let them know.

_Who are they?_ That does not matter. But they are not allowed to know.

"Of course I'm awake. Sleeping is quite impossible down here. _You _ought to know." I only lift my head when I'm certain the grin is in place. Part of the charm, part of the irritation, part of the façade. For they can't know.

My smirk almost slides off my face again, but I manage to catch the tips of it. It does not disappear completely, but I freeze for a moment. I'm sure I froze for just a moment, but a moment too much.

The boy is standing there again. He is a regular visitor now, but still he catches me off guard now and then.

Always.

I manage to sound casual, neutral. Not perfect yet, there is an annoying tremor in my voice that has to disappear. But I'm close. "A lot cleaner than normally, isn't he?"

For a moment he looks worried, worried at me, and I notice my hand is up, nervously fingering my throat. He seems not to like it and my hand hastily drops down again. Mentally I curse. My hand shouldn't drop down. It shouldn't even have gone up. After all, he is not real. He'd disappear in thin air if I try to touch him. He always does.

_Why isn't he covered with blood?_

He's smiling. _He shouldn't smile, he never smiles. _It is a smile I remember, from somewhere. Somewhere, far away. It is a smile that hurts, scares, delights but I can't recall why. It shouldn't matter, for there are lots of things I don't recall. But now it disturbs me. It disturbs me, as the way I can't look, glance away. The last happens more when he appears, but then I'm alone. And somehow it matters less that he appears when I'm alone. No one can hear me then, after all. No one can see him dripping with blood then. No one can hear see or smell him then.

If anyone else could, that is. The idea that I am going mad and making everything up is most of the time quite believable to me.

But I can't make up such a smile, can I? Such a smile. Nor can I make up such a voice, a voice that hurts, hurts even more then normally, when he tells me in a hollow tone it's my fault, my fault, and when I realise it's true.

No. I cannot think up this.

"Hello, Judas."

Exquisite pain.

_I want to reply. _

I want to reply in a way that will stop him from uttering another word, even though I want nothing but to hear that voice again, softly, smiling. My head is empty, hollow, emptily hurting and I – oh God, I can't think and all I find is that someone is talking, rapidly, fast, breathless.

"Oh please, no, Luce, please no, not this, not this, anything but this, God in Heaven, please, make him go away, make him leave, Luce, please I can't bear this, not this, _please_ –"

He's staring at me worried and his face is so close and talking, breathing becomes more and more difficult and he's saying my name again, hurriedly, tormenting and oh _please_ –

I shut my eyes, rest my head against the wall behind me. Breathing becomes easy again. Surprised I blink – and see _him_, far too close. I look away, oh mercy, I _have _to look away, and strangely enough the muscles in my neck obey me, even though they're torn. (They never heal, because they were torn even before I first saw this cell. The same goes for the ugly knick in my neck, where the broken bones now and then still shift over each other.)

I see Lucifer now and my right hand is in his.

Ah. But of course.

"That doesn't have any effect, does it?" A worried, deep voice sounds at my left. I turn my head again, slower – _he_ comes in view, but I keep turning my head, I can't look at him, all saints in Heaven, I can't – and see an older man crouching. Again, I am certain I know him, that the calm lines in his face and the anxious eyes of his younger companion are somewhere buried in my memory, but I can't seem to dig them up. It frustrates me to no end.

"No," Lucifer sounds annoyed, relieved. I don't look at him, for my eyes would pass the boy, and I don't know whether I can look away a third time. "But he would be able to break his air pipe, though, and it growing close again would be a very painful experience. You don't do that again, understood?" He sounds severe and I know he's talking to me, but I can't be bothered to turn to him. "It's completely useless and you know it." The wall is supporting my tired head so I can see the two men next to me: the older one has such a quiet face. It makes me feel calm and makes the weariness seep through my whole body. It's how I prefer it, numb and silent and able to think clearly again.

So while I stare at his wrinkled eyes, I say: "Are you going to let go off my hand, Lucy?" He drops it hastily and I stop the dead weight not as it falls on my seat.

"Thank you. Now please make them go away," I whisper, closing my eyes. I feel so tired. My head throbs violently. When I open my eyes, maybe they will have gone away. For Lord, I can't bear his presence, it hurts so much. I'd rather be alone then, even though that will mean craving for his return.

_I must be going mad._

Soft, featherlike touches against my burn, fingers sliding over my neck, my Adam's apple. I whip my head aside, my muscles and spine creaking in protest and _he_ jerks back, startled by my sudden movement.

I look at him, try to take him in – his hidden knees, the dark, brown cape robe that hides his entire body, though a cuff of a something white escapes from beneath the sleeve that has slid back over his lifted arm, revealing a tanned wrist that becomes a hand and calloused fingers that still seem to reach out to me – and all the while I can feel those eyes, and all the while I want to touch him, my fingers aching to touch him, to feel whether he is real, whether I really felt, whether I'm not that far gone that I imagined it. And all the while I am scared to, for what if I try and he disappears? Perhaps it is better to go on with the idea that he touched me – perhaps I can convince myself that he did and then we can simply sit here and look at each other.

_Oh yes, I am going mad._

He carefully reaches forward again and I find myself bowing forward, closer to those fingertips that softly run over my jaw, up to my cheek, as if mapping out an entirely new country.

I don't shiver. I have taught myself not to shiver a long time ago, a time I can't even remember, and now I cannot make that simple movement, not when it's cold or when I'm frightened. (Which one of the two is it here, I wonder?) My hand flexes to a fist and back again as I try to stop myself from fingering my old wound that still hasn't healed, will never mend.

His hand move and then his palm is against my mouth, my cheek, fingers push my bangs out of my eyes – they fall back immediately, but I don't mind – It is a bliss I haven't experienced in decades, centuries; and even then, dear God, did it feel so wonderful? I feel giddy, delighted and perhaps there is a strangled sound in the back of my throat; for his fingers already left my brow and pull strands from behind my ear and I – ah! – I – oh dear God –

I am falling, tumbling, flying.

I am lying against him, my head buried against his neck, feeling him breathe against me. He feels warm, so warm; he's pulsing with life, his arms around my shoulders, my own uselessly hanging next to me.

"Stop them, Lucifer," he murmurs and it creates a pleasant rumble in his chest. I close my eyes and sigh as his hands starts to card through my hair. My eyelids feel heavy. "Stop them whatever it takes, as long as you can."

Footsteps on the ground that move away. His fingers on my scalp. Two more sets of steps that leave, accompanied by a voice: "We'll try and stop them when they arrive here." And then complete silence, except for his warm breathing in my ear and the soft rustling of his clothes.

I sigh. Who has thought up the joy, the pleasure, the rapture in simply being touched? My head is whirling; my body is warm for the first time since I don't remember; his hands are still caressing my hair and I am limp in his embrace, my face pressed against the pulsing vein in his neck.

"Judas," he murmurs and again there is a pleasant rumbling and I feel so delighted, hoping he'll go on speaking. "Judas, I'm so sorry."

"Jesus. Oh Good Lord, Jesus." I mutter, pressing my face to his skin, trying to feel him everywhere. "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."

A burst of footsteps, hard knocking on the door. An authoritive voice, telling someone to let go of him. A gush of cold air as he releases me. I open my eyes wide in fright and look at him. (_"You'd leave me. I knew you'd leave me."_) But he smiles at me and places both his hands on my cheeks. "I will return Judas," he says, his eyes boring in me intently. "I will return and take you with me. I promise."

My voice trembles as my body cannot and my hands grasp weakly his cape. "No. Please no. Jesus. Please, you don't know - you forget here - please, if you go away, I'll doubt you've been here and - I swear I'll go mad - Jesus, please no, please..."My voice shoots up and I know I'm pleading, but God help me, I can't stop as I clutch the rough material in my fingers and look into those brown eyes.

He opens his arms and I sag against him, still mumbling pleas. Desperately I try to remember every detail, they way his hair tickles my face, how his hands soothingly pet me, how his breaths move against my cheek and - his lips press against my skin.

Something inside me shouts _Not fair! _as I go limp, my fingers release his clothes and I start crying. It isn't fair. He knows I'd do anything he asks, that I'd follow him anywhere. It isn't bloody _fair_. My entire body shakes with sobs as he kisses my cheekbone again, his lips wet from my tears.

"Judas..." he whispers and as one of his arms lets go of me, something heavy falls in my lap. "Judas, write in here what happened. With that pen. Keep repeating it to yourself. I will return."

I don't object. What can I say? Plus, I can't speak, only weep. When he stands up, I weep, falling against the ground. I weep hot tears as he walks to the door and closes it behind him. I can hear what he's saying all the while ("I'm so sorry Judas, but I promise, I promise") but I can't reply. All I can do is weep.

۞

_"What are you doing?" I scream at him, wrestling the knife from his hand. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

_He fights for the weapon with me, still sitting on his knees, and the blood from the tiny cut on his wrist falls in drops on my skin, glittering ruby red. It is the only thing I can see clearly with my distorted vision – those red spots on my arm._

_I am stronger. I am stronger and I would still be if he wasn't undernourished and tired. He falls in a heap on the ground, face down, and I stand before him, breathing heavily, the dangerous blade in my hand. I throw it away quickly - Lord knows I don't want it near him or me ever again - and start pacing as I look at him angrily._

_It is silent for some time, except for the rustling of the leaves under my feet (how I want to kick and hit him, how dared he?), and then he sighs: "Calm down Judas. I'm quite out of harm's way."_

_"Like hell you are," I hear myself answer, slightly hysterical._

_"I am," he replies while sitting up straight. "I had to do it when my Father wasn't watching. But I suppose He glanced my way a minute again or so," he tries to smile but it is more a grimace, "otherwise you wouldn't be here."_

_I stare at him unable to take in what he's saying. "What did I do?" my voice trembles. "Why did you want to leave?"_

_"Oh Judas." He sounds exhausted as he raises his hands in a helpless gesture. "It had nothing to do with you."_

_"It never has, does it?" I question. "You'd leave me. I knew you'd leave me. I should have known you wouldn't stay for me, leave for me. You'd stay for her, but you wouldn't even leave for me –"_

_"Why do you always have to drag her into this?" he inquires, sounding weary._

_"I hate her. I hate her. I hate her." I wonder whether he still can hear me for the tremor in my voice has become so bad I can hardly understand myself. He turns his head away. I fall on my knees and try to look him in the eye._

_"Why do you have to make everything so difficult?" he says, his voice barely more than a defeated whisper. "Why can't you simply say what it is you're thinking of? Why do you hate her if you care for her? Why do I always have to _guess _it, Judas?" He turns to me and now I'm captured in that desperate look, falling in it, becoming part of it. When he stretches out his arms to me, I mouth 'no' and shake my head (my voice seems to have forsaken me), but he insistently tugs at my arms I have raised in defense and he is still looking so tired; so my arms fall down and he gathers me in his arms. I still mumble pleas to let go of me, even though my arms are uselessly hanging next to me; his hair tickles my face; his breaths are next to my ear; and in my head there is a hotness so fierce, I fear it must be a deadly fever._

۞

(_"Once upon a time two royal children each had the other's heart. They couldn't be with one another. Deep waters held them apart. My love, come and swim to me, thus said the maiden so fair. I'll put a candle by the window and I'll await you there. He never arrived by the castle. The sea took him away. The candle burnt up in the morning, but she still waits for him today."_ Laughing dark lustrous eyes; a beautiful, singing voice; a perfume like a hot summer day; a soft smile on the lips of a young girl that steps from behind the tree, black lustrous curls and a red dress screaming at me.)

"Hey, you."

.

Who is you?

(_"What are you doing?" _I scream at him, wrestling the knife from his hand. _"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_)

"Mate? You awake?"

I open my eyes. My forehead is resting against… against my knees. "Lucifer." My voice sounds raspy, even to my ears. How long ago is it that I've talked? I don't remember. But that is not worrisome. There are a lot of things I don't remember nowadays. The clue is: don't let them know.

_Who are they?_ That does not matter. But they are not allowed to know.

"Of course I'm awake. Sleeping is quite impossible down here. _You _ought to know." I only lift my head when I'm certain the grin is in place. Part of the charm, part of the irritation, part of the façade. For they can't know.

My smirk almost slides off my face again, but I manage to catch the tips of it. It does not disappear completely, but I freeze for a moment. I'm sure I froze for just a moment, but a moment too much.

The boy is standing there again. He is a regular visitor now, but still he catches me off guard now and then.

Always.

I manage to sound casual, neutral. Not perfect yet, there is an annoying tremor in my voice that has to disappear. But I'm close. "A lot cleaner than normally, isn't he?"

For a moment he looks worried, worried at me, and I notice my hand is up, nervously fingering my throat. He seems not to like it and my hand hastily drops down again. Mentally I curse. My hand shouldn't drop down. It shouldn't even have gone up. After all, he is not real. He'd disappear in thin air if I try to touch him. He always does.

_Why isn't he covered with blood?_

He's smiling. _He shouldn't smile, he never smiles. _It is a smile I remember, from somewhere. Somewhere, far away. It is a smile that hurts, scares, delights but I can't recall why. It shouldn't matter, for there are lots of things I don't recall. But now it disturbs me. It disturbs me, as the way I can't look, glance away. The last happens more when he appears, but then I'm alone. And somehow it matters less that he appears when I'm alone. No one can hear me then, after all. No one can see him dripping with blood then. No one can hear see or smell him then.

If anyone else could, that is. The idea that I am going mad and making everything up is most of the time quite believable to me.

But I can't make up such a smile, can I? Such a smile. Nor can I make up such a voice, a voice that hurts, hurts even more then normally, when he tells me in a hollow tone it's my fault, my fault, and when I realise it's true.

No. I cannot think up this.

"Hello, Judas."

Exquisite pain.

_I want to reply. _

I want to reply in a way that will stop him from uttering another word, even though I want nothing but to hear that voice again, softly, smiling. My head is empty, hollow, emptily hurting and I – oh God, I can't think and all I find is that someone is talking, rapidly, fast, breathless.

"Oh please, no, Luce, please no, not this, not this, anything but this, God in Heaven, please, make him go away, make him leave, Luce, please I can't bear this, not this, _please_ –"

He's staring at me worried and his face is so close and talking, breathing becomes more and more difficult and he's saying my name again, hurriedly, tormenting and oh _please_ –

I shut my eyes, rest my head against the wall behind me. Breathing becomes easy again. Surprised I blink – and see _him_, far too close. I look away, oh mercy, I _have _to look away, and strangely enough the muscles in my neck obey me, even though they're torn. (They never heal, because they were torn even before I first saw this cell. The same goes for the ugly knick in my neck, where the broken bones now and then still shift over each other.)

I see Lucifer now and my right hand is in his.

Ah. But of course.

"That doesn't have any effect, does it?" A worried, deep voice sounds at my left. I turn my head again, slower – _he_ comes in view, but I keep turning my head, I can't look at him, all saints in Heaven, I can't – and see an older man crouching. Again, I am certain I know him, that the calm lines in his face and the anxious eyes of his younger companion are somewhere buried in my memory, but I can't seem to dig them up. It frustrates me to no end.

"No," Lucifer sounds annoyed, relieved. I don't look at him, for my eyes would pass the boy, and I don't know whether I can look away a third time. "But he would be able to break his air pipe, though, and it growing close again would be a very painful experience. You don't do that again, understood?" He sounds severe and I know he's talking to me, but I can't be bothered to turn to him. "It's completely useless and you know it." The wall is supporting my tired head so I can see the two men next to me: the older one has such a quiet face. It makes me feel calm and makes the weariness seep through my whole body. It's how I prefer it, numb and silent and able to think clearly again.

So while I stare at his wrinkled eyes, I say: "Are you going to let go off my hand, Lucy?" He drops it hastily and I stop the dead weight not as it falls on my seat.

"Thank you. Now please make them go away," I whisper, closing my eyes. I feel so tired. My head throbs violently. When I open my eyes, maybe they will have gone away. For Lord, I can't bear his presence, it hurts so much. I'd rather be alone then, even though that will mean craving for his return.

_I must be going mad._

Soft, featherlike touches against my burn, fingers sliding over my neck, my Adam's apple. I whip my head aside, my muscles and spine creaking in protest and _he_ jerks back, startled by my sudden movement.

I look at him, try to take him in – his hidden knees, the dark, brown cape robe that hides his entire body, though a cuff of a something white escapes from beneath the sleeve that has slid back over his lifted arm, revealing a tanned wrist that becomes a hand and calloused fingers that still seem to reach out to me – and all the while I can feel those eyes, and all the while I want to touch him, my fingers aching to touch him, to feel whether he is real, whether I really felt, whether I'm not that far gone that I imagined it. And all the while I am scared to, for what if I try and he disappears? Perhaps it is better to go on with the idea that he touched me – perhaps I can convince myself that he did and then we can simply sit here and look at each other.

And then he carefully reaches forward again and I find myself bowing forward, closer to those fingertips that softly run over my jaw, up to my cheek, as if mapping out an entirely new country.

I don't shiver. I have taught myself not to shiver a long time ago, a time I can't even remember, and now I cannot make that simple movement, not when it's cold or when I'm frightened. (Which one of the two is it here, I wonder?) My hand flexes to a fist and back again as I try to stop myself from fingering my old wound that still hasn't healed, will never mend.

His hand move and then his palm -

"Pal." I say nothing, still staring at the page where the pen is still writing, though it cannot be writing him anymore, for I cannot recall where I stopped. A frown clouds my brow.

"Pal," someone says again and I look up. Lucifer is standing before me.

"What?" I say, surprised for a moment how raspy my voice sounds.

"I - could I have that book for a moment, mate?" he asks, pointing a hand at the leather bound pages before me.

"No!" I cry out, both hands around it. "No," I say again, trying to grasp reason. "No, he told me to write, Lucifer. I need to write to remember, I can't stop..."

"I know," the man I have known for centuries says in a tone of voice I never heard him use before. "I know that. I brought you some blank pages. You can use the pen to write on those. Just that the book has a direct connection to earth - oh damn like you know what that means - please, Judas, give me the book."

I look at him for a moment and then slowly reach out for the pages.


	19. And The Curtain Falls

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the Bible, and don't want to. Puh.

* * *

_And here I am again, writing for the last time in this damned booklet. Next to me Judas has diverted his attention once again solely to my pen, which he watches write down whatever he's thinking. He'll be here waiting for God knows how long. For only God knows when He will release him from this private Hell. Jesus has promised to return, so he will, but how many more centuries will pass by before that? And the only hope Judas has is jolting everything down, over and over again, and rereading it when he wants to convince himself of the truth. Desperation is once again in his eyes and now and then he looks up to stare eagerly at the door, as if waiting for it to open._

_Life may be a period of shit, death isn't much better for some._

_Well, I will leave you now, I suppose. There isn't much more to tell. All we can do now is wait. Wait for Jesus to open the door and take his friend away. And perhaps I will finally be rid of this - let's call it 'job' for lack of a better word. For Lord knows that I'd like to get up there again._

_Oh yes He knows. He knows everything after all, even that I miss Him while I think of Him as a bastard. He has always been there to me and I can't hate Him, even though I've been trying to since the very beginning of everything. He knows. Just like He knows what this is all about, why I am sitting next to Judas waiting for a moment that may never come; why Judas will keep on writing; why he will continue to look up; why I will hope._

_Don't say I didn't warn you. I told you it would turn out to be about this._

_Love is what God used to create His son of, after all._

_Yours sincerely_

_Lucifer_


	20. Author's Note

I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the trouble to read this far (present or future), especially Jinace, who has been with me during every Bible story I've ever written and who hopefully will continue to do so. My thanks also go to T.H. White, who, even though his Arthur-saga was written before WW II, has been an inspiration for every plot idea I've ever had. I recommend to everyone who found this story bearable José Saramago's_O Evanelho segundo Jesus Christo _(_The Gospel According To Jesus Christ_), which I read during the ninth chapter of _Events _and who to my surprise shared my views of God and the Devil. He also convinced me of the cuteness of lambs and the seven pages where he sums up every martyr for Christianity are very impressive. Another interesting view is _The Angels' Maker _by Stefan Brijs.

I always had a bit of a passion for religions and after I saw Jesus Christ Superstar I tried the Bible and noticed that the Old Testament and the New differ. Jesus became in my eyes more of a hippy, who rebelled against the ideas that had been practiced for centuries. The God of the Ancient on the other hand was cruel but more interesting: under His reign, there was murder, manslaughter, genocide and sex. Therefore I decided to split the Holy Three Unit up: there was the Ancient God, Jesus as his son and the Holy Spirit, who seems the head of some Secret Intelligence Service. Seeing I have always liked to know what the random passer-by thinks and I don't think Jesus was running a sect where an own opinion is blasphemy, I decided to write the story out of the point of view of the apostles, allowing Lucifer to add details where necessary.

Three years is a long time. I don't believe you can hate someone you laugh, cry, eat, talk and sleep with for three years. Judas was an apostle, like it or not. I have made him a rather stereotype, scarred man who seems to depend upon Jesus for happiness. It was not my intention to write a gay love story (I already did that before this), rather try and explore the link between Judas and Jesus when the first is an emotionally unstable, bitter man and the second a sad son who feels betrayed by his father and looks up to a task which will result in hundreds of wars. It can be love; it can be friendship. Nevertheless, Judas felt betrayed by the man who had pulled him out of his misery and thus returned the favour. Still, Jesus knew this would happen and did not put a stop to it: in the Bible he frequently refers to someone who will put him to death and who is amongst his friends. Thus, Judas was necessary for something that was bound to happen and was punished for fulfilling his role by an eternity of suffering. (His eyesight, bye the bye, is based on my own. One evening I was wondering how life would be in a time without glasses – terribly blurry.)

The apostles' names in this story are all taken from the 1616 Dutch translation of the Bible, here and there changed to the English version when necessary. Every other name is also taken from the Holy Book, some explicitly told as belonging to the same character (e.g. Jesus' brothers; his mother), some chosen at random (e.g. Mark, who sails them over the Sea of Galilee; Susanna, who is said in one of the Gospels to be one of Jesus' female followers). Almost every event in this story is taken from the Gospels, though now and then changed (e.g. the Detriment of the Temple: in James the Younger's chapter, nothing is destroyed).

Yours Truly,

mildetryth


End file.
